


Djinn with the Light Brown Eyes

by 27dragons



Category: The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Genie/Djinn, Anal Sex, Bad guys doing bad things, Canon-Typical Violence, Consent is Sexy, Cuddling & Snuggling, Hydra (Marvel), M/M, Minor Character Death, Sex, The Ten Rings (Marvel), Trauma/PTSD, antique dealer Bucky Barnes, canon character death, djinn Tony Stark, magic makes good lube, minor/background Steve Rogers/Natasha Romanov, novelist Natasha Romanov, super soldier serum (sort of)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-15
Updated: 2021-01-10
Packaged: 2021-03-10 03:55:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 25,409
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27567841
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/27dragons/pseuds/27dragons
Summary: Co-written by tisfan. This note will be removed when tisfan is able to accept the co-authorship. See end note for more information.Bucky loves to travel the world, bargaining for old books and curios for his antique shop. The old-fashioned lamp that caught his eye probably isn’t worth very much, but he couldn’t quite seem to pass it by. Now there’s a genie in his room calling him “master” and promising him anything and everything he could wish for...Bucky isn’t like any master Tony’s ever had before. He’s a good man, kind and generous and thoughtful -- the kind of man that Tony could actually be proud to serve. Unfortunately, Tony’s previous masters don’t seem inclined to let him get away that easily.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Tony Stark
Comments: 353
Kudos: 561





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Minor warnings for the (non-graphic) killing of a bad guy, and also for Yinsen's canonical death.

Tony had been confined to his lamp, forbidden from associating with his own kind. So he was there, he was _watching_ when Raza stumbled over a loose bit of rock as he strode past the out-of-the-way corner where Yinsen was curled, trying to remain unnoticed.

Tony’s powers were very strictly limited when he wasn’t operating under a master’s orders, but he had just enough pull to nudge his lamp, to make the clip that held it to Raza’s belt break and drop the lamp. It fell on a pile of rags rather than the stone floor -- not Tony’s doing, but simple coincidence. And, perhaps, some excellent timing. Either way, Raza didn’t notice its loss immediately. 

Yinsen picked the lamp up, attracted to it, the way mortals were always attracted to the magic of lamps and rings and carpets. “Oh, so terribly sorry,” Yinsen said, brushing off the lamp. He was a slave, a prisoner, of sorts, for the Ten Rings, keeping their complicated computer systems running in their underground caves. They’d tortured the man, kept him locked away, barely fed him. And still, he acted like a gentleman, apologizing politely, picking up what Raza had dropped, with every apparent intention of giving it back.

The instant his fingers brushed across the surface of Tony’s lamp, and Tony took his chance.

“What is your bidding, my master?” He materialized far more quickly and completely than he’d ever done for Raza. The ancient magics that bound him to the lamp also forced him to obey its holder, but they didn’t stop him from minor acts of rebellion, like materializing very slowly, like a sullen adolescent edging into a room. But for Yinsen, Tony was immediately present. He pointedly put himself between Raza and Yinsen.

“Oh my goodness,” Yinsen said, reaching for Tony, like a child being offered a sweet. “You really are real. I’ve-- I’ve heard them talk about you, but I thought--”

Raza, having finally realized what he'd lost, turned back toward them, shaking out his collapsible nightstick.

“Don’t let him hit me!” Yinsen yelped, almost dropping the lamp in his efforts to cringe and hide his face.

Tony spun around and bared his teeth at Raza. There were a lot of ways to keep one human from hitting another. Tony was going to go with the simplest: he materialized a sword and sliced Raza’s head from the human’s shoulders in one neat stroke.

“We should leave now,” Tony advised. “His seconds won’t be happy.” His own spirits soared like firebirds ascending -- he was _finally_ going to be taken out of this dank, cold cave, _finally_ going to escape being forced to serve the Ten Rings and their petty conquests.

“You killed him,” Yinsen said, staring. Then, without warning, he turned and vomited what little remained of a probably inadequate last meal.

Tony suppressed a sigh. “He did not hit you,” he pointed out. “Running,” he prodded again. “Very soon. Or bid me to carry us elsewhere.”

Yinsen nodded, slowly. “I know the way out. They think I don’t. Not that it matters, they will see us, long before I make the exit.”

“You could command me to protect us,” Tony suggested.

“Does that involve more killing?” Yinsen wondered, voice trembling. “Can’t you just hide me, on the way out?”

 _Damn._ Tony really, _really_ wanted to kill every last one of these Ten Rings bastards, bury them at the pit at the bottom of the caves, and fill the entire complex with sand and rock so their corpses would never be found. “Is that your command, master?”

“Do I have to command you?” Yinsen patted Tony’s arm. “That seems wrong. I’ve been a prisoner, so long. They told me if I made them happy, they would let me leave this place.”

“They lied,” Tony said. “And I cannot act without my master’s bidding.” Not much, anyway. Not without being freed, which... was not something Tony had any desire for. To be freed was to become mortal. Life as a slave was better than certain death. It at least held some hope.

“All right, as little as possible, then,” Yinsen said. “I… command you to hide me from them so we can escape these caves.”

“As you command.” It was a novelty, Tony had to admit. He’d never had a master before who had any compunction about issuing orders. He shrouded Yinsen in shadows. “Go now,” he said. “Bring me with you, and I will turn their eyes from you as you pass.” It wasn’t the revenge he craved, but it was _escape_ , which was more important.

“Yes, we shall both leave,” Yinsen said. “Do you-- I don’t know anything about djinni. Do you have family that would like you returned to them?”

“No. It will be enough to serve a master who does not seek constant death and destruction. Who will, on occasion, allow me to see the sun.”

There were three Ten Rings soldiers coming down the hall toward them. Tony threw a veil in front of their eyes and blocked their ears. For good measure, he shorted out all the security cameras in the complex and demagnetized the storage tapes. Let them wonder what had happened.

“Is it all right if we talk?” Yinsen hissed in a whisper that -- if Tony were allowing it -- would surely have carried. “I’m sorry, I haven’t had company in months, years. I thought, someday I would leave this place and see my family. Where are you from?”

“I was a spirit of iron,” Tony said, “before I was bound, some three thousand years ago, or perhaps it is more. Those first years are something of a blur.”

“Forgive me, I never believed in spirits,” Yinsen said. He turned, as if he knew the route by step count alone. “I never expected to meet one. Do-- pardon me, do you have a name?”

“Few humans believe in spirits, anymore,” Tony said, waving away the apology. “Call me Tony, if you must call me something.”

“Tony, then,” Yinsen said, and then said, “I’m Ho Yinsen. It’s very nice to meet you.” Of course, Tony knew that already; he was always vaguely aware of what went on in the vicinity of his lamp, even when he was trying diligently not to pay attention. Thank all the spirits that humans had invented television, and that Tony could, in fact, access it from inside his lamp. One of his former masters had given him permission, many years ago, and no one knew about it, so they hadn’t been able to take it away. Not the way he’d lost his library, and his forge, and all the other things that had made his millennia of imprisonment worthwhile.

“Delighted to make your acquaintance,” Tony agreed, absently turning more Ten Rings fanatics down the wrong halls, so as not to cross their paths. “Where will you go, when we are free?”

“Perhaps I should go to the Americans, first,” Yinsen mused. “I know they’re seeking these cave systems, and these weapons. It would save lives, taking these weapons away from these--- murderers.”

Yinsen reached out and touched one of the endless crates that Ten Rings had around. Bombs and guns and chemical weapons. Uncreative. A waste of wishes, but someone had told Raza that Tony could not directly kill humans. It was a lie, but because it was a lie that Raza believed, he’d never asked.

Those last seconds of Raza’s life must have been startling. Tony smothered a giggle. “You could command me to make the weapons disappear,” he pointed out.

Yinsen appeared to consider that. “If there are no weapons here,” he said, “then when the Americans come, and it is a slaughter, then what proof is there of the things Ten Rings has done? There will be journalists crying of war crimes and unnecessary brutality. No, I think we must stick to the original plan. If it’s all right with you.” He slanted a look at Tony. 

Tony shrugged. “You’re the master. It’s not often I come into the possession of someone who is willing to think ahead a little. Do you enjoy games of strategy?”

“I’ve been known to enjoy a game of backgammon in my time,” Yinsen said. And then, he did something Tony had never experienced before in his entire existence. Yinsen _took his hand_ and tugged him toward the cave entrance. “Sunlight, look. You said… you said you hadn’t seen it. Come and see.”

Tony closed his eyes as they stepped out of the caves, tipping his face up to the sun like a flower. How many years since he’d felt the sun’s warmth? He stood for a long moment, simply soaking it in. Then, “We should go, and quickly. They are many and I am one, and if I cannot simply kill them, then they will discover us missing soon.”

“I am not going to walk very fast,” Yinsen said, apologetically. “And the sun can kill, in a matter of hours. Could you-- conjure up a Jeep? Or hotwire one? I can drive. Mostly.”

Tony grinned and swept his arm toward the Ten Rings’ vehicles, messily arrayed around the outskirts of the compound. “Choose your chariot,” he said.

Yinsen selected one of the smaller but newer trucks. Ten Rings often used them to make their way to some of the local towns to bring in supplies. No guns, no armor, but plenty of cargo space and a good engine. Tony conjured the key for him, and they were soon on their way through the desert.

Yinsen could drive. Mostly. But it wasn’t like it mattered; there were no set roads here, and it was unlikely the local police would pull over a vehicle that had belonged to Ten Rings.

While they drove, Yinsen talked. And asked questions; he wanted to know how djinni granted wishes, and how many were there, and did Tony really live inside a lamp, and how did that work anyway, and did magic also apply for conservation of energy? He listened, almost raptly, as Tony talked, and seemed to understand most of what he was saying.

“The American base,” Yinsen said after a time, nodding toward the settlement that had appeared on the horizon. An American base, just outside a small town, the two existing in an uneasy truce. “You should… you should hide in the lamp. If you don’t mind. So they don’t see you.”

From inside the lamp, Tony could not hide or protect Yinsen and the truck. But neither could he disobey Yinsen’s command, however politely given. “Call me out in need,” Tony said, and folded himself back into his prison.

* * *

The rockets… the ones Yinsen wouldn't let him destroy or set against the Ten Rings. A risk for them… that the American soldiers might see the launch… might be able to track it back. But Ten Rings were like roaches, scuttling around in every crevice.

Tony could _feel_ them, waiting in the rocks, preparing their trap. _Summon me,_ Tony begged silently. He couldn’t help from where he was. _Bid me to destroy them, to sweep the pursuit into a sandstorm and scour the flesh from their bones, to bring forth a plague of scorpions to sting them to death._ A futile wish. Yinsen would never ask for violence or vengeance, not even against the Ten Rings.

The Jeep was within a mile of the American base when the attack came. Swift and merciless. The Jeep flipped over, the belt holding Yinsen in place. Tony had to brace to keep from tumbling out of Yinsen's reach.

 _Summon me!_ he demanded. _Tell me to help you!_ He exerted what little influence he had without a master’s order to pop the seatbelt, letting Yinsen tumble to the sand, hoping that the Jeep would keep rolling over and over before the next rocket hit it--

"Tony," Yinsen said, weak and voice full of agony. "Tony, please come out."

Tony boiled out of the lamp, throwing a shield over them before he’d even fully materialized. That, he reasoned, was for his own protection, and didn’t need his master’s command. Yinsen was in bad shape, bleeding and broken, pale under the sunburns. Tony cursed in a language that had been dead for four centuries and gently cradled Yinsen in his arms. “Hang in there,” he said. “I can heal this, I can fix it--”

"I don't want-- to be healed," Yinsen said. "This… this was always the plan. You needed to leave Ten Ring's service. They are terrible, even without your help. Petty and fanatical. Domination by the sword. It is only lucky that they never set their sights higher. And now, you are free of them."

“And so are you!” Tony exhorted. Yinsen was the only master he’d ever had who ever gave a damn about _him_. He couldn’t lose this, not so soon. “Let me heal you,” he begged. “Don’t you want to see your family again?”

“My family is dead, Tony,” Yinsen said. “Raza had them killed -- he didn’t even know who they were, they were just in his way. I am going to see them… now.”

“No, no, no,” Tony pleaded. “Yinsen, please, don’t... The Americans are coming already, hold on! Don’t leave me!”

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” Yinsen said, patting Tony’s hand. “This is what I want. I want this. Tony-- my last wish. Don’t let them catch you. Go with the Americans. Don’t… don’t waste your power on this war. On Ten Rings’ war.”

That sank into Tony’s bones with the force of command. He placed his hand on Yinsen’s chest, fingertips lightly touching. “Rest well, master. I will not forget you.”

“You-- are a good man.”

Yinsen took one last, quavering breath. And as he exhaled, it seemed that he smiled.


	2. Chapter 2

There were few things that Bucky enjoyed more about his business than this -- wandering the shops and bazaars of the world, picking through estate sales and old stores. His previous job as attache to the Secretary of Defense had given him contacts in every part of the world, and his charm and admittedly good looks had gained him access to their homes. Which allowed him to follow the history of certain artifacts, and often to get his hands on them in certain dire circumstances. An unexpected death, or financial difficulty, and he would have a new item for his own shop.

_Forget Me Not Antiques_ was Bucky’s dream.

“Sugared dates! Sugared dates and figs! Sugared dates and pistachios!” a vendor sang, trying to lure customers into his tent. Bucky didn’t have high hopes for this particular market, more catering to foodstuff and silk and tacky jewelry.

But you never knew when you were going to find something exceptionally rare.

The lamp, incongruously, was sitting out on the corner of a stall that was otherwise covered with books, their contents nearly as dry and dusty as their jackets. But the lamp... That was lovely, if a bit battered, a design as old as time. Its facets caught the mid-day sun and reflected it back into Bucky’s eyes, shimmering.

Bucky, because he was never anyone’s fool, picked up a book and thumbed through it. Beautiful, really. He read Arabic, and several of the other local languages. Despite being beautifully illustrated with gold inlaid pages, the story itself was one of the terrible penny-dreadfuls of the Arabic literary world. Bucky already had four copies of it back in his shop. 

But he flipped the pages for a few minutes before setting it down to explore the shop’s other merchandise. One of the books actually did have some value, and Bucky tucked it under his arm, waiting for the shop owner to notice him. It took longer than Bucky would have thought, and by the time he did find the man, it was obvious he was in the process of rebinding a book with an imitation leather cover. 

Bucky took another look at the book he was considering purchasing. “Excuse me,” he said in Pashto, which was his most fluent local dialect. “I failed to note a sign with the price?” Even so, a local would barter, as long as they didn’t think he was American.

Bucky mostly managed to pass as Romanian, which was good. Americans, Brits, and especially French were not popular in this area.

The owner gave Bucky a once-over. “For that book? Twelve thousand. The binding, the quality of the paper -- you will not find a better price.”

Bucky lifted the book to his nose and sniffed. Lemony with a hint of chocolate. It was good paper. He flipped to the front few pages. “The copyright for the story is listed, but is this a first edition? The book is a good showpiece, but only originals command that price. I’ll give you eight thousand.”

“Eight?” the man shrieked. “Foreigners! You want my children to starve! I can go no lower than eleven without making my wife cry.”

The man did not look in any danger of starving. Admittedly, the shop wasn’t exactly swarming with customers. “Hmmm,” Bucky said, looking the book over again, as if he were weakening. “I wanted something nice to show off at home, a-- you know. A trophy for my travels. Something with snap, with-- oh, I’ll give you ten, will that satisfy?”

“Ten,” the shop owner groaned, clutching his hands over his heart dramatically. “For ten, my neighbors will point at me and laugh every evening as I return home. For ten, if you want a trophy, you can have that lamp.” He waved at it derisively.

Bucky allowed his gaze to be directed to the lamp.

“All right, twelve, then. For the book. _And_ the lamp.”

The bookseller groaned in despair and enumerated the travails that would become of him and his family and his family’s family if he sold at such a ruinous price and demanded fifteen for the set.

“Fourteen,” Bucky said, because he couldn’t help himself. It was a steal. The book was easily worth twice what he was paying for it, and the lamp was the sort of frivolous bit of nonsense that would make a good centerpiece for his middle eastern display cases.

“May pustulent camels spit in your coffee,” the shopkeeper swore, even as he held out his hand for Bucky’s money. “Shall I wrap them for you?”

He counted out bills. “I’ve got it,” Bucky said. He carried a rucksack with him, and slid the offensively cheap items into the bag. Tradition demanded that he claim he was being cheated, to bemoan the shopkeeper’s greed and stinginess. “Blessings on you and your family for your generosity.” The compliment was in fact, significantly more offensive than an actual insult would have been at this point -- a taunt, really, that Bucky had successfully cheated the merchant. He shouldn’t have done it, but he was kind of an ass sometimes. He swept back into the hot, sunny street, laughing at the shopkeeper’s outrage.

“It’ll make a good story,” he said to himself, “when I get home.”

It had been a good find, more than Bucky had expected of this market, and indeed, there was nothing else to interest him. He found himself thinking of the lamp as he made his way back to his lodgings, curious to see how it would look, polished and placed under a good display light.

He ordered a tray sent up to his room, managed a polite nod at the desk clerk. It felt almost like an obsession, but he reminded himself that it was just a lamp. Ridiculous fairy tale movies aside.

Bucky stripped out of his local clothing and washed up, then took the lamp out of the bag, forgetting about the book entirely.

“Now let’s see what you are,” he said. “Dirty, battered old thing, really. You looked better in the shop.” There was something written on it, carved into the metal, but he couldn’t read it. Bucky licked his thumb and wiped it over the letters, trying to get a better look.

“What is your bidding, my master?” a voice said, and Bucky whirled around to see a man standing in his room, an exceptionally _beautiful_ man with large, honey-brown eyes and slightly antiquated clothes.

“My wha-- how the fuck did--” Bucky scrambled for his bedside table. He wasn’t stupid enough to carry a gun in the market full of pick thieves and children, but years of being the Secretary’s aide had gotten him into the habit. He didn’t feel safe without one, especially at night. Especially after some of the things he’d seen.

“You summoned me,” the man said. He raised his eyebrow disdainfully at the gun. “Americans, so _violent_.”

“I did not summon anyone,” Bucky said, ignoring the crack on Americans. Everyone, everywhere, was violent. Human nature, too many rats in the cage. “I asked for dinner to be brought up, but--”

“You want dinner?” The man waved at the table, which was already set and laden to groaning with food, stew and olives and bread and meat and fruits.

Bucky almost fell over. “How-- how did-- who are you?”

“You can call me Tony,” the man said. “You summoned me.” He repeated it patiently, like talking to a small child.

Bucky looked down at the lamp, still clenched in one hand. A thin trickle of smoke led from the nozzle and pooled on the floor, just below-- well, where Tony’s feet should have been, if he’d had them. He appeared fully materialized at slightly above the knee.

“That’s bullshit,” Bucky said. It didn’t feel like any of the various hallucinations or vivid dreams he’d had in the course of his life -- one bout of unnamed jungle fever, and more than one experiment with drinks, drugs, and the religious incenses that had been offered to him on his travels. When in Rome, and all. But he felt fully lucid.

“It’s okay,” Tony said soothingly. “My new masters often go through a period of shock.”

Bucky found himself looking at the lamp again. “No,” he said. “No, that’s… that’s… what is that, exactly? I mean, we’re what, talking three wishes and stuff? Open sesame? How is-- how are you even real?”

Tony groaned and rolled his eyes. “What kind of Disney-fied hack do you take me for?” he demanded. “Three wishes. You want to talk bullshit, _that’s_ bullshit. No. You hold the lamp, I do what you say.”

“So if I told you to bring me an elephant, you could just… do that?” He decided, if he was hallucinating, which it seemed like he probably was, he should at least put the gun down. He checked the safety, then put it away. 

And then wondered why he was bothering, because if he was hallucinating, he couldn’t be certain that he had, in fact, safetied his weapon.

“Yes, of course.” Tony glanced around the room. “It would probably immediately collapse the floor, however, so I recommend not telling me to do that.”

“How about the _Northumberland Bestiary_ ,” Bucky wondered. “It’s a lot smaller than an elephant.” And subsequently, one of the most valuable books in the world, currently priced at somewhere around eight million dollars. Bucky would have given his eyeteeth just to be able to look at it for five minutes.

Tony cocked his head, a small smile forming under his elaborate beard. “Unusual. I like that.” He reached up onto the display bookcase and pulled out a book, handing it to Bucky.

For perhaps thirty seconds, Bucky just stared at it, the beautiful hand stitched cover, the intricately illustrated pages. And then reality set in. Hard.

“Oh, oh, fuck, oh…” Bucky tried not to drop it. “ _Holy shit_ , this is like almost a thousand years old, I can’t _touch it with my bare hands_! Uh, uh… put it back where you got it. In the same condition it was in before you gave it to me.”

Tony laughed and took the book back. “I wouldn’t let you damage the book. Unless you wanted to, of course.” He folded his arms around it like a middle-school girl trying to hide her breasts, and then he dropped his arms again and the book was gone.

“Seriously,” Bucky said. The smell of ancient pages still clung to his fingers. “Seriously and for real, a-- a genie. Named _Tony_.”

Tony shrugged. “It’s not my real name. Human mouths can’t pronounce my real name. Tony’s perfectly fine.”

“I have to hold the lamp,” Bucky said, hefting it. “What happens if I put it down, do you just poof away, or can you stay?” Sometimes, Bucky thought, he was terribly basic. Right in the middle of what might have been the most amazing hallucination (or maybe, just maybe, it was real) of his life, and he was hungry. His stomach twisted and he couldn’t help but look over to the almost forgotten and entirely uneaten dinner laid out on the table.

Tony made a wavy gesture. “I can stay if no one is holding the lamp, but I can’t do much of anything magical. I need a command for that.”

“And if someone else picks up the lamp… does the little rub thing, then you belong to them?”

“That’s how it works, yes. You’ll probably want to keep the lamp fairly close at hand.”

“Right, yeah, okay,” Bucky said. “Look, I’m starved. Do you-- I mean you. Do you eat? Would you. Can you, in fact, sit down and have dinner with me?”

“I can,” Tony said. “I don’t need to eat, but doing so will not harm me.”

“It won’t… hurt me, will it? I mean, it’s real food, right?”

“Perfectly real. If you eat too much, you may suffer a case of indigestion, but you can always command me to cure it.” Bucky’s stomach growled, and Tony smiled again. “Please, master, eat.”

“Right,” Bucky said, slowly. He slid the lamp onto the table, somewhat to the left of his wine glass. “You… don’t have to call me master. That’s sort of… Look, my name is Bucky, all right? You can call me Bucky.”

“As you wish, Bucky.” Tony pulled out the chair for him. “Sit, eat. Drink. The wine is excellent, I promise.”

“You’re actin’ like I’m some rich swell,” Bucky said. “I’m just… James B. Barnes, rare antiquities dealer. Mostly books, but other odds and ends. I own a curio shop in New York City. That’s it.”

“Somewhat more than that,” Tony said, sliding into the opposite chair. “If nothing else, you are the keeper of the lamp. That warrants special attention.”

Bucky nodded at the lamp. “I ain’t holding it. So, this is just-- an invitation, from one person to another. You don’t have to answer any questions you don’t want to, and feel free to ask anything you want to know about. I’m… a curio dealer. Which means, you might understand, that I have a powerful curiosity about things. And I like to learn. Okay?”

Tony spread his hands. “Ask away.” He picked up a wine bottle and poured Bucky’s glass half-full, and then his own.

“The shopkeeper,” Bucky said. “He wasn’t your last master?”

“No. The lamp came to him in a lot, and he did not like the look of it. Rarely even touched it, wanted to get rid of it as fast as possible.”

“I thought it was lovely,” Bucky said, honestly, without really meaning to. “How’d you end up in a lot? Someone’s estate sale? Did your last master die?”

“Something like that,” Tony said, and for an instant, Bucky caught the impression of a deep well of sorrow before Tony closed it off.

“Right,” Bucky said, and he took a sip of the wine. It was good. Ridiculously good. He almost asked, and then decided he didn’t really want to know if Tony had snitched it out of someone’s wine cellar or created it on the spot. “So, this is, like, your side hustle? Or do-- genie? Djinn? Is there a proper name for-- your people? I mean, who decided you had to live in there and serve humans? That seems kind of… demeaning. You do… live in there, don’t you?”

“I don’t really live the way you think of it,” Tony said. “The lamp is a portal to the dimension where I exist, when I am not here. I am bound to it, constrained to obey its holder. Humans have many names for our kind -- djinn, genie, whatever term you wish.”

“What do _you_ wish?” Bucky wondered, and then realized that probably sounded particularly weird coming from a being that was bound to grant wishes. “I mean, this really sounds like you’re getting the short end of the stick here. How long you been at this gig?”

Tony laughed. “Thousands of years. Though many of them are very quiet. Long spaces where my lamp was lost. It’s kind of a relief to have a master after that. I don’t like quiet.”

“I can’t imagine how anyone would lose you,” Bucky said, shoveling a spoonful of riced salad into his mouth, then almost choking when he realized what he’d said. “The lamp, I mean. You-- well, I mean, it’s not like you’re… “ Jesus, he was so not-smooth. Not that Tony wasn’t a good looking… whatever he was. Male, seemed like. Close enough. Cross-species dating probably wasn’t high on his priorities, though. If djinn even dated.

“Yes, I know what you mean,” Tony said, looking amused. “It’s happened a couple of times that my master has died suddenly, before they could tell me to save them. Men or women with as much power as a djinn represents don’t just _tell_ people about it. So to everyone else, it was just... a decorative lamp. Got dropped down a ravine once; that was fun. Spent a few decades behind glass in a museum.”

“Can you do that? I mean, save someone from dying?” Something strange moved in Bucky’s chest, and it took a moment to realize what it was. _Hope_.

“I can, if I’m fast enough, if they allow it.” There was that strange flash of sorrow again and then Tony eyed Bucky critically. “Do you need to be saved? You seem healthy to me.”

“My best friend,” Bucky admitted. “He’s… well, he’s been dying since he was born, but he’s getting a little more serious about it, these days. Asthma, heart problems, anemia, he might even have TB. I mean, you name it, he’s got something wrong with it. Color-blind. Half-deaf. Crooked spine. Flat feet.”

Tony looked thoughtfully into his wineglass, swirling the dark liquid around. “That all sounds very manageable,” he said. “I’d have to see him to do it, though.”

“I guess that means you can’t cure the world,” Bucky said. “Good to know there are limits. What-- I mean, can you bring people back from the dead?”

“Yes,” Tony said. “But they really don’t like it, and most of them try to die again as soon as possible.”

“Oh, that’s… that’s weird and disturbing and I’m _really_ glad you told me,” Bucky said. "Alrighty then. I need to think about this, for a bit. It's a lot. I'm… I'll sleep. There's a second bed if you want it. I don't snore. Or you know, you can pop back in your lamp, if that's more convenient. Do… what you do. Report on a change in boss. Whatever."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The [Northumberland Bestiary](http://www.getty.edu/art/collection/objects/240115/unknown-maker-northumberland-bestiary-english-about-1250-1260/).


	3. Chapter 3

Tony watched bemusedly as Bucky retreated to the bedroom. More curious than covetous; that was unusual. A little bit like Yinsen, only without the imminent mortal peril.

And the few requests Bucky _had_ made -- not jewels or coin or palaces or adoring concubines, no. A _book_ , albeit an extremely rare one. Food. Health for a friend, not an official wish yet, but the first real wish Bucky had considered.

Tony’s instincts for a new master’s personality were not often wrong. Bucky seemed unassuming, kind, generous. _Interesting_ , and that was something Tony’s masters rarely were.

Bucky had closed the door to the bedroom, but doors were nothing that had ever bothered Tony. He slid through the door and looked around curiously. “It’s not much of a bedroom. I could make it fancier if you liked. Bigger. Pretty girls to keep you warm?”

Bucky, who was already taking his shirt off, paused. “Uh, not really my style,” he said. “Uh, girls, I mean.”

“Pretty boys, then,” Tony offered, smirking. “How do you like them? Young and fair? I had a master about a thousand years ago who was obsessed with redheads.”

“And they’ll just… want me because you magicked it up that way?” Bucky wondered, then shook his head in -- disgust maybe? “No, thank you. Pickings might be slim on the ground, but I’d rather someone like me because they like me.”

“You’re an odd one,” Tony mused. He stretched out on Bucky’s bed, propping his head on his hand to watch Bucky undress.

“Yeah, I keep bein’ told that,” Bucky said. “Thus the dates being thin on the ground thing, as previously mentioned.” He unbuckled his belt, and unzipped his jeans, then stopped. “Are… I mean…” His cheeks went pink and his neck a little darker red. “Mean, it probably ain’t like it matters, but I’m not sure I’ve ever had someone _watch_ me undress that I wasn’t taking to bed.”

“You did offer me a bed,” Tony pointed out, sly. He wondered if Bucky would command him away. Or not to look. That blush was really quite endearing.

“Uh, right,” Bucky drawled. “Look, scoot over a bit, yeah. This one’s my bed. That one’s the available one.” He pointed and then dropped onto the bed anyway, pushing his jeans down to reveal long legs and a simple pair of drawers. Not silk. Some sort of synthetic, slippery, and a little bit shiny.

Tony moved over but didn’t get off Bucky’s bed. He leaned in curiously and fingered the hem of the undergarment curiously. “I like this.”

Bucky squeaked, almost bolted off the bed like it was on fire, and apparently realized that if he did that, it was entirely possible his underwear was going to stay right where it was. “Uh. Okay… we need some general--” His voice cracked, which was utterly adorable. “--understanding of polite behavior around here.”

“Do we?” Tony tipped his head to look up at Bucky from -- he was entirely aware -- entirely too close.

“Are you _flirting_ with me?” Bucky looked incredulous, those silvery-blue eyes wide with shock, perhaps. Or interest. Or both. Both was well within the realm of possibility.

“Would you like me to be?” Tony grinned and pulled back a little. “I am _literally_ yours to command.”

“What if you weren’t,” Bucky asked. “Do you even understand the concept of free will? Of your own desires and needs and wants?”

“Of course I do,” Tony said. “I want a lot of things. Sometimes I even manage to get them. What makes you think I’m not doing this of my own free will right now? You didn’t _tell_ me to do it.”

“Yeah, no, I wouldn’t,” Bucky said. “That’s like next level Sally Jefferson shit right there. Then… tell me what you want. You, for yourself. What do you want?”

“A master who won’t use me for evil,” Tony said readily, ticking each item off on his fingers. “Revenge on the Ten Rings. To visit Rhodey.”

“What’s a Rhodey?” Bucky looked around as if expecting another djinn to come floating through the wall.

“My friend. We had the same master for a time, and we try to keep in touch, but it’s hard to do without a good master.”

“Yes, all right, then,” Bucky said. “If you can visit your friend, if you know where he is, you-- do I just give you permission? Because you have it, if you need it.”

So easily? Tony caught Bucky by the shoulders and kissed his cheeks, one and then the other. “You are a jewel amongst offal,” he swore, and hesitated. “One command, you should give me first: tell me to return to you when you need me. Then I will know immediately if any danger befalls you.” He would never have actually said as much to most of his previous masters.

“All right,” Bucky said, slowly, a little dazed. His hand went up to touch his cheek where Tony had kissed it. “Return to me, if I need you. Or… my plane leaves tomorrow at 4:17, so you should probably be back here about two hours before that. Two in the afternoon, all right? Local time.”

Hours and _hours_ , half a day and more. Tony felt positively giddy. He kissed Bucky’s forehead and danced a little loop through the air, trailing smoke behind him. “You are the best master I’ve had in more than two thousand years,” he swore. Rhodey was going to be so _happy_ to see him; the Ten Rings had forbidden Tony to leave his lamp when he hadn’t been summoned. “Two o’clock tomorrow, I will not fail. Or in need. Keep my lamp close!”

The last thing Tony heard as he sped away was Bucky saying, “And now I’ll spend the next twelve hours thinking I’ve had an incredible trip and wonder what I inhaled at that smoke shop.”

Tony giggled a little to himself -- it wasn’t unusual for his masters to spend a day or two thinking they were imagining him or that he’d curled out of the smoke of a pipe. It didn’t matter; Bucky would come around soon enough.

He reached into the ether and found the bright silver thread that was _Rhodey_ and wound it with his own, following the thread at the speed of light, dancing between the atoms of the world.

It didn’t take too long to get to the general area; not even more than two hundred of the earth’s miles. But he was more than a little astonished at the location. When he and Rhodey had belonged to the same master, a man who liked to think of himself as wise and powerful, they’d been in Egypt, and then, when that master died, he bestowed one lamp to each of his children. Tony’s master, the younger son, had wanted to travel, while the older had stayed in his father’s palace. 

What happened, Tony wondered, that Rhodey was now in a _museum_? And not even on display, but in the archives, packed away in straw, sealed in a wooden box and mislabeled.

“Rhodey!” Tony flung himself into Rhodey’s lamp, sliding into the pocket dimension with long-remembered ease. “Rhodey, where are you?”

“Never fails,” Rhodey said, grumbling. “Settle in to take a bath, and there’s a rub at the lamp. Or an uninvited guest.” He threw his rubber duck into the tub behind him and then finally looked up to see Tony, and his eyes grew wide. “Tones? Where’n the nine planes have you been, these last, what, thirty years?”

“Afghanistan, mostly,” Tony said. “In the most awful, dank little maze of caves _ever_. The Ten Rings are _terrible_ masters, don’t ever let them get their hooks on your lamp. Speaking of which -- what is this? What are you doing in _storage_?”

“I’m on vacation,” Rhodey said. “My last master made a very, very stupid wish, and I managed to get away. He was fighting with his wife, and he said ‘I wish I’d never seen you’ while he was holding the lamp. He was incredibly unspecific as to which ‘you’ he meant. So I took us both out of there.”

“That’s my Rhodey!” Tony laughed. “But storage, ug. You should at least be on display! Behind glass, of course, so no one can touch you. But you’re made to be admired!”

“It’s quiet,” Rhodey said. “Which is more than I could say for my last master. He was constantly asking for things. I used to cut his toenails, I mean, really. I can move mountains, boil seas, provide wealth and prestige. And he insisted on living in a tent that smelled like goat.”

“Ug,” Tony complained. He’d had those masters, too, the ones without enough imagination to rise out of their circumstances, even with all the power of a djinn at their command. “My new master has to practically be _tricked_ into asking me for things,” he said. “Hopefully, he won’t live in a tent. He’s an American, so probably not.”

Rhodey took his hand. “It’s good to see you, old friend. You don’t look-- it’s been a tough time?”

Tony pulled his friend into a hug, slumping into Rhodey’s side. “Ten Rings are terrorists. Petty evil. They don’t even have the scope for world domination, they just want to hurt people and lord it over them personally.”

“Ug, mortals, right?” Rhodey said. “Sometimes I wonder what the gods were thinking when they created humans. They’re kind of useless.”

“Most of them,” Tony agreed. “Maybe I should retire to a nice little hole-in-the-wall collection.” But part of him rebelled at the idea of leaving Bucky unguarded.

“You-- cannot move in with me,” Rhodey said firmly. “I love you, you know that, right. And I’m not trying to be a dick, but you… talk too much. I’d be insane inside a moon.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, sourpatch,” Tony teased. “Of course I’m not moving in with you. I’ll be in the drawer next door and come over to visit.”

“Gonna have to get a cork to put in my lamp-spout,” Rhodey said. “I’m kidding, I’m kidding. But at least I’ll be able to tell Jarvis I saw you, next time.”

Jarvis was not a djinn; not a spirit of iron or gold or rock, but one of wind and air. He took the form -- when he bothered to take form at all -- of a golden circle within a circle, and had, most recently, decided it was the providence of air to protect all human knowledge. He was a cipher of unlimited memory and clarity.

“You’ve seen Jarvis? How is he? Tell him to come see me! I’m... Going to America, apparently.”

“He’s well, if a little more eccentric than expected. All that human learning has done something to him. Apparently he discovered something called pornhub recently. It was… sticky.”

Tony made a face. “One of the Ten Rings guys used to use me to bypass firewalls so he could get to that site. Sticky is... a good word.”

“Well, at least you won’t be traumatized,” Rhodey said. “I’m only joking, I know that nothing humans get up to would surprise you. Being between masters is nice and restful, but I expect I’ll get bored soon enough, get one of these museum folk to open up this crate and get a wish or three. You know, some of them seem to think they only get three wishes? What sort of cut rate djinn do they know?”

“That’s what I’ve been saying!” Tony exclaimed. “Three wishes, _three?_ Where did that come from?”

The night seemed to speed by; Rhodey produced several human luxuries. A humidor of rare cigars, a bottle of French brandy, fruits and cheese and nuts from around the world. They told ridiculous stories about their former masters, and Rhodey passed on some choice gossip from the spirit planes, iffriti who had gotten in over their heads, an uprising of the naga folk on the plane of water. 

Too soon, there was a little tug at Tony’s lamp.

“Ah-- The master calls,” Tony said. He gave Rhodey another hug. “This one seems like he’ll let me out to visit more, at least. So hopefully I’ll see you soon.”

“Anytime you need a place to call home,” Rhodey said. “Be safe out there.”

“I’ll be fine,” Tony promised. “Don’t get too bored.” He grinned and folded himself into a mist lighter than steam, slid across several dimensions, and poured out of his lamp. “You summoned me?”

Bucky was leaning against the wall, back pressed up against it, right next to the window. “Uh. I think your former master might know where you are.”

Tony threw a protective shield around Bucky even as he turned to look.

“I was looking out the window, and-- well, I noticed him yesterday, outside the shop. And he’s just _watching_.”

Tony peered out until he found-- Abu Bakar. Raza’s second in command, a jovial sort who was, nonetheless, a brutal murderer.

He cursed. “You’re not wrong. Hold the lamp. Do _not_ let go of it. As long as you have it, he can’t hurt you. Command me to protect you, or to hide us, or take us away immediately. We can leave him behind.”

“Did he hurt you? When you belonged to him?” Bucky wondered. “Not that it matters. Can… we were leaving the country anyway, can we just skip the flight? Are you able to take me home?”

“At last, a master who comprehends at least _some_ measure of the power they hold. Yes, of course I can take you home. That’s a bigger magic, though; you must command it. Do you have your things packed?”

“Yeah, two cases here, and that one there in the chair,” Bucky said. “I don’t really feel safe walking in front of the window right now. I spent ten years in the service of one of the most powerful men in the world. I know when someone’s carrying a gun.”

“Several guns, at least,” Tony agreed. “You will not need to move.” He summoned the cases to him and reached for Bucky’s hand. “Tell me.”

“I wish for you to take me home,” Bucky said, squinching his eyes closed. “Please.”

“As you command,” Tony intoned, drawing on the surge of power that came with a command and wrapping it carefully around them. He plucked the location out of Bucky’s head, a green-blue thread of longing that tied him to his home, and pulled on it like a lifeline, dragging them to the place that thread was anchored.

“Oh, fuck me--” Bucky said, staggering forward and dropping his bag, and then dropping all the way onto his knees. He made a short, pained sort of noise and promptly threw up, pushing himself forward just enough that he missed befouling an antique Persian carpet.

“I always forget about that,” Tony scolded himself. He snapped his fingers and the puddle of vomit disappeared. “That one’s on me, consider it part of the travel service.”

“That feels very weird,” Bucky complained, rolling back over onto the carpet and staring up. “Like, my inner ear insists we didn’t move and the rest of me says, _oh yes, you did_. This is the shop, by the way. Did I miss, or did you miss?”

“This is where you were thinking of when you said _home_ ,” Tony said. He looked around and smiled. “It’s a very cozy shop. I quite like it.”

A fluffy white cat uncurled itself from under a drysink and padded over to Bucky, yowling plaintively.

“Don’t even give me that, fur for brains,” Bucky said. “Steve’s been in here every day to feed you, and probably bringing you catnip and chicken jerky. And french fries.” 

The cat managed to look smug, the way cats often did. It did give Tony a brief glance, then decided that Tony was not going to produce any treats, and went back to purring and meowing at Bucky.

“This is Alpine. Shop cat. Alpine, say hello to Tony, Djinni of the Lamp.”

Tony bowed to the cat, because it was an elegant-looking creature who cared about him not at all, and that was amusing. “Master Alpine, I am delighted to meet you.”

“He’s delighted as well,” Bucky interpreted, loosely. _Very_ loosely. “Ok, we’re okay. That… everything’s fine, now. Do you think he knows?”

“Who knows what?” Tony wondered. “Alpine knows you are distressed. He also knows I am a djinn. Neither of those facts matter very much to him, however.”

“Does your old master know… that I know you’re a djinn. I mean, he might just think I’m an antique dealer -- which I am -- or some annoying American tourist. Also, true. But the danger I’m in, having you, like quadruples if he knows that I know. If I don’t know, I’m just an idiot and he can search for me and probably not try to snipe me. If he knows I know-- well… then plots get thick on the ground.” He glanced up at Tony, then laughed. “Yeah, I know. Very active imagination. Used to work as an attache for a very dangerous man. And my best friends are a novelist who mostly writes spy books and stuff about the CIA and a painter, so--”

“He’s not my old master,” Tony corrected. “My old master is dead. Those were just his stooges. Whether they think you have uncovered the secret of the lamp is anyone’s guess, but I would be surprised if they didn’t at least suspect. It’s not a puzzle that takes years to solve.” He paused, eyeing Bucky and feeling the threads of Bucky’s thoughts pulling tight. “I will not let anyone harm you.”

“It’s not a matter of bein’ scared -- I mean, I am. Scared. But not-- look, they come around here, shooting, and then you blow up like Robin Williams on steroids, and there’s kids that live in my neighborhood. I… collateral damage is unacceptable.”

Bucky was very firm about that point, Tony could feel it. “No collateral damage,” he agreed gravely. “If they come, I will not permit them to cause any damage.”

“Okay, okay, that’s… that’s good,” Bucky said. He got to his feet, much to the cat’s disgust. “So, uh, these two suitcases will go back in my office, here--” He grabbed one. “And there’s a few things that are being shipped over. The airlines -- oh, crap, I should cancel my ticket. And. Um. Would you please stamp my passport? I’m not going through customs, which I should, and if anyone ever looks, they’re going to wonder why my passport isn’t stamped.”

“Consider it done.” Tony was pleased; his master was very clever. And not at all shy of taking advantage of Tony’s power. “If I may offer a suggestion? Do not cancel the ticket. I will ensure the airline records show you as having arrived for the flight and boarded.”

“Thank you,” Bucky said. “It might make me easier for your-- what did you call them? Tin Rings? To follow me, but the US Government is a little more problematic, most of the time.”

“Ten Rings,” Tony said, wiggling his fingers. “One for each finger. If they wish to follow, they will have your address from the hotel, much easier than tracing you through the airline.”

Bucky scrubbed at his face with both hands. “Whatever,” he said, finally. “If they find me, we’ll deal with that when it happens. I’m trying to figure out what to do with _you_.”

Tony cocked his head, confused. “With me? Whatever you wish, of course.”

“Yeah, that’s kinda the problem,” Bucky said. He grabbed the other case and headed back toward his office. It looked more like a gentleman’s study than the office room for a business. Surrounded on all sides by floor to ceiling books, and several stacks of them scattered about. There was an aging computer on his desk, and the windows had been coated with some sort of sun-blocking yellowing plastic, presumably to keep natural lighting from damaging the book collection. “Are you familiar with the phrase ‘power corrupts?’”

Tony could not possibly have spent the last several millennia in the hands of would-be despots without learning the principle, if not the precise phrase.

“I think that’s why -- for all the more recent stories about djinn, there’s limits. On wishes. I -- not five minutes ago -- asked you to completely circumvent US Customs. Which, okay, I’ll give that it was an extreme situation given that border police don’t really take travel-by-teleport into account… but-- I could literally ask you for _anything_.”

Tony nodded. “Yes. You are afraid you would abuse my power? Become drunk on it?”

“I don’t think that’s the kind of power that should be in the hands of one person,” Bucky said. “And yet, I think we all know that governments can’t really be trusted with power, either. It’s a dilemma. There’s so much good we could do. But at what cost? I really need to sit down and think about this before I hurt anyone.”

Tony grinned. “You are a good person. You will do what is correct.”

“But you can’t disobey. I’m not entirely certain -- forgive the presumption -- that I will do what is correct. Can I give you a standing… directive?”

“Of course... For as long as you hold the lamp. Once it comes into the possession of another...” Tony shrugged.

“That-- that’s the kicker, right there,” Bucky said, shaking his head. “Why I can’t just-- turn you over to someone else. I don’t trust myself, necessarily. But I’m not sure anyone else would be better. So, standing order-- I would like you, barring life-saving measures, to consider any moral issues with wishes I make. Argue with me before carrying them out. Make sure I know what I’m doing, and the consequences of those actions. Can you do that?”

Tony laughed, startled. “An ingenious approach,” he praised. “But what makes you think my morals align with your own? I am not human, or even mortal.”

Bucky smirked. “I think you’re getting the idea already.”


	4. Chapter 4

"Tony? Can you get the door?" Bucky yelled. He wouldn't have bothered, but whoever was leaning in the bell was very persistent. "While looking _human_!"

He was in the middle of repairing one of the books that was damaged in shipping and didn't really want to put it down long enough to answer the door. 

"Say you're my new assistant if anyone asks," he added.

“Is lying really a morally good choice?” Tony wondered, but he was already heading toward the door, the smoke/mist that made up the bottom of his body forming into legs as he went.

“It’s not lying, it’s… failure to provide complete information,” Bucky muttered, but he grinned. Tony was very very good about making him at least think about what he was doing. They’d been working together for most of a week, and for the most part, he rarely asked Tony to do anything that a human couldn’t do.

“Yes, can I help you?”

Bucky was going to have to work out some sort of payment plan, or find a way to compensate Tony, although Tony had expressed himself _thrilled_ to be able to spend a little time in the sun (maybe a beach trip?) and visit his friend (invite the other djinn back for an outing, perhaps?).

“Who are you?” Steve’s voice came from the front door, angry and loud and suspicious the way he tended to be. “ _Buck_?”

 _Crap. Fuck fuck fuckety god-damn it._ He had not explained things -- any things -- to Steve. He’d called Steve not long after he’d gotten back -- when he’d estimated he would have gotten back if he hadn’t been teleported -- but Steve had been down with another round of endless respiratory ailments, and had protested any sort of visit “until I’m done coughing and being gross,” as Steve had put it.

“In the back, pal,” Bucky yelled.

Tony followed Steve into the back room. “I told him I was your assistant,” he told Bucky. “He didn’t believe me.” One eyebrow went up and he smirked. _See what comes of lying?_

“Hey Stevie,” Bucky said. He glued the binding in place and pressed gently. “Tony, could you--” He nodded at the glue, which he’d been teaching Tony about. Painfully, really, because Tony preferred to magic everything back into mint condition, if given the choice. “This is Tony--” He glanced at the title page, scanning the words for some inspiration. The book itself, _Chromos and Lithographs_ , did not provide a working surname. _At the bequest of Edwin Stark, class of 1829_. “Tony Stark. He’s agreed to help me out with the shop for a while. Tony, my best friend, local cat-sitter, and general pain in my ass, Steve Rogers. Steve, say hello like you got manners and everything.”

Tony offered a hand. “Glad to meet you,” he said, just the way Bucky had taught him. “Bucky’s told me a lot about you.”

Steve glanced at Tony’s hand like it was going to grow fangs, but then shook. He probably did his ridiculous bear down and squeeze thing that would be more annoying if Steve had any grip strength at all. As it was, most people didn’t even notice. Tony would be even less likely to notice.

“Assistant, huh? I thought you said you didn’t need any help,” Steve responded.

“Well, it got busy,” Bucky replied. “And Tony’s surprisingly knowledgeable. You feeling better? I’d have come over, but I expect that Nat was already bringing you terrible soup and an extra box of tissues.”

Tony had taken a step or two back and was examining Steve critically. His eyebrows went up and he took another step back.

Steve made a face. “Mostly,” he said. “Fever’s broke, at least. Nat’s good. Came over with her latest manuscript and made me read it.”

“What a tragedy. Do not spoil the ending for me, ya punk,” Bucky said. “His girlfriend is Natalie Rushman,” he told Tony. “I don’t know if you read spy thrillers.”

Tony cocked his head at Bucky and closed his eyes for a couple of seconds. “Natalie Rushman,” he said thoughtfully. “I’ve read a few. I like the Black Widow series. _Hanging By a Thread_ was excellent.”

“Yeah,” Steve said, softening suddenly toward Tony. Steve was nothing if not proud of his girlfriend. Anyone who admitted to being a fan got a few points into his good graces. “This is one of those-- with the sister, and we find out about her fa--”

“Spoiler, no spoiling!” Bucky looked helplessly at the book he was holding together while the glue dried, which meant he could not, in fact, clap his hands over his ears. “La la la, cannot hear you!”

Tony chuckled. “Perhaps we should save that discussion for later. Do you think she would sign a book for me?”

“Yeah, I bet she’d be tickled,” Steve said. “We’ve both been trying to convince Buck here that just because he can do everything in the shop by himself don’t mean he’s got to. So… next time I drop by, I’ll bring you one. Tony… Stark, was it?”

“Yeah,” Bucky said. “I think that’s got it.” He let go of the book and then, out of an excess of caution, put another book on top of it to hold it in place.

Steve scowled at the floor for a moment. “So, I need to have you sign this,” he said, reaching into his jacket and pulling out a folded bit of paper. “Saying you don’t have work for me. The government is bein’ stingy with my benefits again. Like my mom and dad didn’t both die for this country, it’s the least they could do--” He gave Tony a sideways glance. “Every few years they pull this bullshit on me, and while my doctor’s filling out all the paperwork that says, no, I really cannot work or I’ll get sick and die… I have to file for _welfare_. Just to get through the next few weeks until my SSI is back on.”

“Absurd,” Tony declared, though whether he actually thought so or was just saying what he thought Steve would respond well to was anyone’s guess. “It’s not as if you’re going to miraculously get better, suddenly.” He smirked at Bucky when Steve wasn’t looking.

“Unfortunately, I don’t think I will,” Steve said. “My doc keeps tellin’ me it’s a miracle I made it this far. Buck says that’s just pure pig stubborn Irish of me. I’ve got my name in for every clinical trial known to man, but most of those won’t even take me. They want… just the illness they’re looking for, and not anything else. My bum ticker might go bad with the asthma drugs, or something.”

Bucky finished reading through the sheet, and then signed his name at the bottom. “Here. Let me know if there’s anything else I can do. I mean--”

“Yeah, I know, pal. Gotta hit the bricks. One more signature I need, at least for the next two weeks. It was nice to meet you, Mr. Stark.”

“The pleasure is mine, of course,” Tony said, head dipping in an almost-bow. “We shall meet again soon.”

Bucky walked Steve out to the door, and then watched him as he made his way down the street, fifty pounds of pissed off in a three pound bag.

“So… uh, can you help him?” Bucky wondered. He didn’t worry about being out of earshot. Steve was lucky if he heard anything when his back was turned. Deaf in one ear and hard-of-hearing in the other.

“Of course,” Tony said. “It will not be easy -- several of his systems are held in very delicate balance -- but it can be done.”

Bucky sighed. “He’s been sick his whole life. As long as I’ve known him. Used to be a favorite target of bullies, grew up to be one of those guys who picks fights with strangers who are creeping on the ladies, you know?”

“I can fix it,” Tony repeated. “Call him back in now, and we can have it done before dinner.”

“Not like that,” Bucky said. “Not unless we have to. If it comes down to him dyin’ or him believing in magic, I’ll do it your way. But I’d rather he not know I was involved at all.” Bucky scratched his chin. Steve would never forgive him. Not really. He’d be grateful, but without any way to make it square, he’d eventually get pissed about it. Balance of power issues. Bucky knew all about them. “You heard what he said, about clinical trials. Could we… sort of slip it in there. Something that works… I don’t know, off the charts unexpected?”

Tony stared at Bucky in something like disbelief. “With everything that’s wrong with him? It would have to be some kind of top secret super soldier project or something.”

“You can’t just _fix_ him, people will _notice_. There needs to be… some sort of even barely plausible explanation.” Bucky sighed. “Or we have to change his name and move out of state, which I suppose, last resort. Natalie can write her books from anywhere.” Bucky sighed, letting the door close. “ _Are_ there top secret super soldier projects?”

The look Tony gave him was pitying. “Of course there are.”

Bucky puffed air. “Yeah, okay, so I was asking for that one. Do I-- no, nevermind, I probably don’t want to know very many details. He’s not-- well, I suppose some Army doctor somewhere could see his file and feel sorry for him. But-- would it work? Would he be safe? I mean… I just want him to have a chance to lead some sort of normal, not dying before he’s thirty sort of life.”

Tony shrugged. “I would be pulling the strings of the experiment,” he said, “so it would be safe for him. They may be disappointed, however, when their experiment fails to produce another such success.”

“So… what if something happened to the experiment. Data corruption, whatever medicals they’re making, the recipe gets lost or something? Wouldn’t be able to blame Steve, or even worry about it, if there’s nothing left of it, right?’

“My standing orders compel me to note that this is highly suspect behavior,” Tony said, “but yes, that’s... doable. But I still think you should just tell him about me.”

“Three people can keep a secret, if two of them are dead,” Bucky said. “And it’s not just that… I mean, I trust Steve with my life. I do. I sometimes think he’d be happy to take a bullet for me, if that was an option. But it’s also… Steve. He was born sick. And like, the worst part about it has always been the way people treat him, like helping him is some sort of punishment. That if he can’t ooze gratitude, he doesn’t deserve to eat, or get meds. It’s sick, really. So, he’s really hostile about taking favors. _Any_ favor. It took forever for Nat to convince him that she actually really liked him, he’s that untrusting. Something like this; fixing this? That would be… I think it would be too much. Too much for him to accept as a gift.”

Tony spread his hands. “You’re the boss. Give me a minute or two, please.” He folded his arms _exactly_ like the girl in _I Dream of Jeannie_ , which made Bucky almost laugh, and closed his eyes. He kept them closed for several minutes, during which his legs faded back into smoke, as if they stopped existing as soon as he wasn’t thinking about them.

Finally, he opened them again, looking almost dazed. “Okay. I’ve set it up; all he has to do is manage to stay alive until he receives the notice.”

Bucky wasn’t quite sure how it happened. One moment he was standing there, and the next he’d locked his arms around the djinn’s back. He was almost surprised by that. Part of him expected his arms to go right through, like Tony wasn’t solid at all, despite having been carrying and pushing and helping. Tony still sort of… looked surreal. “Thank you,” he murmured, holding on to Tony in a bear hug.

Tony held stock-still for a moment, then his own arms curled lightly around Bucky’s shoulder, patting Bucky’s back carefully. “You’re... welcome,” he said, cautious, almost as if he expected the words to burn him.

* * *

“He _hugged_ me,” Tony announced when he materialized in Rhodey’s lamp. “He _thanked_ me.”

“What’d you do,” Rhodey wondered. He was studying a large, blue gem. “Does this look cursed to you? I can’t tell. All these blue diamonds seem to come with a curse.”

“Of course it’s cursed,” Tony said. “All diamonds are cursed. That’s why humans like them so much. I agreed to heal his friend in unnecessarily complicated ways.”

“Complicated sounds fun,” Rhodey said, snapping his fingers and sending the diamond back to wherever it came from. “I’m starting to get bored. Tell me about it. And your master. Hugged you. That’s… well, that’s a first.”

“Right? Usually they don’t want to come anywhere near me.” Tony flopped himself down and started to explain about Bucky, and Bucky’s friend Steve.

“...but the only thing I can think of that would be even remotely plausible is some kind of secret super-soldier project. Remember that one caliph who wanted an invincible army from me?” Tony grinned at the memory, then sighed. “But if I’m going to play this one straight, I’ve got to actually make it _believable_.”

“What’s unbelievable about us? We’re here, we’re real. Humans are just stubborn.”

“Can’t argue with that. You going to help me, Rhodey?” Tony batted his eyelashes. “You’re bored, you said so yourself.” Without a master to command him, Rhodey’s powers were strictly limited, but that didn’t mean he was useless. Rhodey was a masterful planner, and could stand in for some of the faces in the illusions Tony would have to create, at least.

“Right, all right,” Rhodey said. “You’re going to get me in so much trouble, but sure, why not. But not the Army. I don’t want to join the Army. I think a nice Air Force Colonel sounds good. I can be a consultant. Colonel Rhodey. Nah, that’s silly. I need a human name. What’s your human’s name?”

“Bucky,” Tony said. “Well, James, but everyone calls him Bucky.”

“James sounds good. Colonel James… Rhodes. That’s good. We can do this. Did you have a program in mind, or are we going back in time? Oh, please. Can we go back in time, we haven’t done that in _ages_. Literally.”

Tony considered. “That might make it easier in the long run,” he admitted. If they set up the program in the past, then there would be less of a smokescreen to kick up in the present. “Sure, we can go back in time. A little. Humans don’t live too long.”

Rhodey rubbed his hands together. “When the Efritti council finds out about this, I’m gonna blame you. But in the mean time, let’s make a little magic. How about… hmmm. Well, that looked promising. Why don’t you-- you can get it started. Back in the 90s. I’ll arrange to have the project rebooted.”

Tony let the details scroll across his vision: a failed project with a few tantalizing but ultimately fruitless leads, a buried key for some modern-day researcher to stumble across. Shouldn’t be too hard. “You got it,” he said. “Let me know where you want me to bury the clue.”

“Yep. Here, this looks good. Scientist died unexpectedly, with only a few bottles of experimental serum. Those went missing. We can just uncover them. Then we can have two or three of your supersoldiers, not just this sick boy. Okay… make me look human, and I’ll start on my end.”

Tony tugged on a thread and wrapped it around Rhodey, a magical disguise. He put some attention into the details -- making sure the uniform was cut just right, the medals arrayed impressively across the breast. Legs and feet. Very important. “What do you think?”

“Ug, I hate wearing human clothes,” Rhodey complained. He wiggled his legs a bit. “How do they get around on these things?”

“Hey, at least you don’t have to wear heels this time,” Tony said, grinning. “Remember that one time--?”

“No,” Rhodey held up one hand. “No, I don’t, and neither do you.”

Tony laughed. “Okay,” he conceded. “Let’s go make up a secret science project.”

“See you in about… twenty years or so,” and Rhodey gently pushed Tony in the direction of the past, where he was suddenly on a dark road, watching the scientist, excited and driving while intoxicated, precious cargo in the trunk.


	5. Chapter 5

Bucky leaned in the doorway and watched. He’d been the proud owner of a djinn for three months and he was getting used to all of Tony’s weird habits. Whenever other mortals were around -- that’s what Tony called humans, mortals, which made Bucky inquire if djinn were in fact, immortal, and he’d walked away from that conversation with information he was pretty sure was going to take a toll on his sanity one day -- Tony had legs and feet and dressed like an American in his mid-twenties, mostly in jeans and old rock band tee shirts.

Bucky didn’t ask if he wore them ironically or not.

But when they were alone, Tony was still mostly a curl of smoke from his midriff down, shirtless, and wearing his hair twisted under a turban. Some days he wore jewelry, some days not. Bucky couldn’t tell if that was a mood thing, or just some sort of djinn fashion statement. 

Bucky’d gotten another shipment of acquisitions in -- they’d been held up in customs for weeks -- and had asked Tony to put the closed sign in the window and then clean the shop.

Tony knew how to use a broom, but he wasn’t, of course.

Instead, he had summoned some sort of wind sprite and was using it to chase the dust bunnies out from under the furniture. They tumbled and rolled over each other like paler cousins of the sootlings from _Spirited Away_. He was singing, too, under his breath, in some language Bucky couldn’t identify. The smoke just below his waist shifted and curled as if Tony were shaking his hips to the music.

“I swear, I’m going to make a youtube channel,” Bucky said, “and call it _I Dream of Djinn_. Film little bits of my daily life and post it online. Everyone would give me huge props for special effects.”

Tony grinned at him as he shooed the tumbles of dust into the dustpan. “You could, but then the Ten Rings would find me that much faster.”

One of the little wind spirit things bumped into Bucky’s ankle, made an annoyed hissy sound, and bumped again. “What?” He lifted his foot, and the sprite pushed a pile of dust and dirt out from under his shoe. “What-- what is that?”

“Dumi,” Tony said. “Air elemental. They’re not very bright, but they’re hard workers.”

“Like, elemental roombas,” Bucky said, moving his foot out of the way again. “Cute.” He chewed his lip, then -- he’d been trying not to nag, but he was starting to get worried --”How’s Steve, do you know?”

Steve had all but vanished. He’d been called in to do a physical by one of the clinical trials, and while he’d been rejected from that one as well, he’d bumped into a Dr. Erskine on his way out of the hospital and been given an offer.

Steve had gone home, packed a bag, and Bucky hadn’t seen or heard from him since.

“He’s fine,” Tony said easily. “Don’t worry about him so much. It takes a little time to work miracles, you know.” He chuckled a little under his breath at some joke Bucky didn’t get.

Bucky raised an eyebrow at him. “You’ve lived with me how long now, and you haven’t figured out that _I worry_?”

“Alas, master,” Tony said, folding his hands and bowing deeply, “some things are too great for even a djinn’s magic to change.” When he straightened, he was smirking.

“Yeah, you’re hilarious,” Bucky said, tossing a cleaning rag at him. “Try dusting the old fashioned way. Someone’s coming.”

Tony caught the rag and made a face as his colorful attire faded into dark jeans and a faded tee, the turban disappearing to show off Tony’s short, almost fluffy black hair. The dumi scattered with a wave of his hand, and he bent over to laboriously scrub at the table around his lamp.

“You’re cute,” Bucky said, then put on his attentive shop owner face. “Welcome to--”

He stopped short.

Steve had walked in the door. But--

He was _tall_. Build like a weight-lifter, with broad shoulders and a narrow waist. Looked like he’d never failed at anything in his entire life. Looked like he’d never been _sick_ a day in his life.

“Heya, Buck.” Steve hovered uncertainly just inside the doorway. “I, uh. I’m home.”

Tony scrubbed at the table harder, but Bucky didn’t miss the grin he was trying to hide.

“Wow,” Bucky said. “Uh. I thought you were smaller. What _happened_?”

“Lots,” Steve said. “Too much, maybe, to tell more than once. Nat’s meeting me at that Brazilian steak place in twenty minutes. I’m always hungry these days. You want to join us? I mean-- both of you, if you want.”

“Yeah, sure,” Bucky said. “Tony, help me lock up-- we can walk down? Meet you there in a few minutes?”

“Sounds good,” Steve said, then he engulfed Bucky in a hug. It was huge, almost overwhelming, but it looked like Steve. Sure as hell sounded like Steve, and from that close up, it mostly _smelled_ like Steve. Minus the layers of eucalyptus and the faint whiff of albuterol.

“Wouldn’t miss it,” Tony said, and shook Steve’s hand before turning away to start the lockup.

“See you guys there,” Steve said, and waved as he left the shop again.

“Uh-- so, should I thank you, or shake you? What-- I wasn’t expecting… ”

“His full potential,” Tony said, sounding more than slightly smug. “Not a bad job, if I do say so myself.”

“That’s what he would have been like, if he’d never been sick? Ever?” Bucky shook his head, almost in shock. “I wonder if he’d have been a good guy. He looks like the Aryan Ideal.”

“Steve is a fundamentally good person,” Tony said with an air of certainty. “Size matters not.”

“Yeah, right, Yoda,” Bucky said. He glanced at Tony, then-- “I’m in a state of shock here. Can you lock up, like… the cheatie sort of way?”

Tony beamed at him. “I thought you’d never ask.” He waved a hand and the room neatened itself, the cases were locked, the surfaces gleaming and polished. Tony dangled the key to the cash register from two fingers, offering it to Bucky.

“As long as I’m not the violence inherent in the system,” Bucky said, taking the keys. “You make my life better, you know that? Thank you.”

Tony looked unaccountably pleased, almost like there was a blush creeping up his cheeks.

He wasn’t sure what he was going to say to Steve, but as it turned out, Bucky didn’t really have to talk a lot, between making incredulous noises about the results of the project, and in between Natasha’s incredulous questions, a few horrified exclamations about what had, in fact, happened.

“-- so, Dr. Erskine’s dead. I’m standing there, and for the first time in my life, I feel… really good. Physically, I mean. Mentally, I’m kinda in shock. So I just take off running after the guy. He’s got the other two vials of the serum. The project leaders were going to test three subjects that day, but they needed the vita-ray chamber to activate the serum, and there was only one of those--”

Bucky swallowed hard and glanced at Tony.

Tony didn’t even look back. “Well don’t keep us in suspense,” he told Steve. “What happened? Did you catch him?”

“Yeah, I ran him down,” Steve said. “The guy, he-- he shot himself, before we could do anything about it. Said something like ‘cut off one head and two more grow back’. Nonsense, really. I don’t know what’ll happen now. Erskine’s dead, and the last two doses of the serum were lost in the fight. Project’s a bust. I got a ‘thanks for coming, here’s some sweatpants, go home now.’”

“After all that?” Tony shook his head. “That’s so weird. Don’t you think that’s weird, Bucky?”

“Pretty sure that there’s at least two guys following me around at all times,” Steve confided.

“Four, in fact,” Natasha said, looking around aimlessly as if she were trying to spot their waiter. “Not to mention that my old boss called me. He wants me to sign up again, just to keep an eye on you. They didn’t think you’d make the cut.”

“Well, who better to test that kind of product than someone who needed it desperately? If you take a big strong guy and make him stronger, what have you really proved?” Tony asked reasonably. He waved over a server for another round of skewers.

“Tell you the truth, I’m almost relieved,” Steve said. “I was the only subject there not in the military -- I mean, Erskine happened to see me leave the doctor’s and just. Asked for me. Everyone else has an oath that keeps them in service. And some of those guys, Buck, they were huge. You know the type. Not so smart, lots too loud.”

“Yeah, I know the type,” Bucky said. “I’m glad you didn’t get hurt.”

“That does remind me, though,” Steve said, scratching at his chin, absently. “I saw your old boss, up in the observation room. He didn’t stick around long after the shooting started. Those secret service guys are _fast_.”

“Who? Alex?”

“Yeah, that’s the guy. He used to be on the news a lot, back in--”

“Secretary of State, I know. I was at most of those press conferences, remember?”

Tony frowned. “What was _he_ doing there?”

“I don’t know,” Steve said. “It’s not like he knows who I am or anything. I doubt he even remembers Bucky.”

“James,” Bucky corrected. “The Secretary always called me James.”

“Whatever. Maybe he was consulting. Or funding. Or oversight-ing. Official business.”

“Yeah, probably. High-risk, high-reward projects usually have high visibility as well.” Tony was still frowning, though, as he picked at his dinner.

“Well, at least you didn’t have to talk to him,” Bucky said. “He’s very charismatic, little bit sleazy. Knowing you, you’d have probably mouthed off to him.”

Steve just laughed.

“So-- I mean, did it hurt-- you grew like almost a foot and a half, it’s--”

“Little bit,” Steve admitted.

“Is it permanent?” Tony asked, smirking a little.

“So far,” Steve said. “Kinda gross to think what might happen if I started shrinking again-- I’ll tell you what, I about ate an entire cow, right after… everything else.”

“Yeah, I bet,” Tony said. “Had to make up all that extra mass somehow.”

Natasha put another skewer in front of Steve, who picked it up without even, apparently, noticing. “He has been like this since he got back. Nothing but eat, and eat, and talk. And sometimes run. He can run now.” She flashed a green-eyed glance at Bucky, almost suspiciously. Bucky doused his flank steak with chimichurri sauce and didn’t say anything. It seemed safer.

“Well,” Tony said briskly, picking his glass, “here’s to health!”

“Let’s hear it for Steve Rogers,” Bucky drawled, grinning as Steve looked both pleased and embarrassed.

* * *

Millennia of practice kept Tony’s mouth running, a light patter of pleasantries and humor, but he couldn’t stop wondering what Alexander Pierce had been doing at the kickoff of a project that had been created specifically to have one singular success and then die.

He was going to have to see Rhodey, soon, and sort it all out.

Bucky, too, seemed distracted for the rest of dinner, smiling whenever someone looked at him, but his face was a mask of blank expression if he thought no one could see. 

Finally, dinner was over, and Natasha picked up the tab, joking around with one of their servers about possible poison in the garden salad bar, and then signing an autograph for him before they left. “Fans,” she said. “Run into them everywhere.”

“It’s nice,” Tony said. “Must be odd to be so public, though, after being an agent.”

“I did it on purpose,” she said. “I spent almost fifteen years of my life where no one knew my name, and no one would miss me if I was dead. No one to worry, or wonder. No one. Now… now I have everyone. Also, being a public figure makes me safer against old enemies.”

Tony wondered if that approach would work for him. ...Probably not.

“Also, she knows where some of the bodies are buried,” Steve teased.

“There is a book with my publisher, with instructions to be published only after my death,” Natasha said. “It will be interesting to see if it ever sees the light.”

Natasha was not lying, Steve thought she was. An interesting dynamic.

“So what are your plans,” Bucky asked. “Now that you can do anything you want?”

“Thought I’d go home, have sex with my girlfriend--”

“I did not need to visualize that, thank you,” Bucky protested.

“Hey, you asked, pal.”

“I wouldn’t mind hearing a little more,” Tony said with a playful leer. Not that he actually wanted to -- he’d already seen pretty much everything that _could_ be done between two humans -- but because Natasha thought it was funny and both Steve and Bucky were adorably flustered by the thought.

“We are hoping that he now has super sperms, as well as the rest of him,” Natasha said, winking. “The doctor didn’t say if the-- changes would be inherited or not.”

“How could they know?” Tony wondered. “I don’t think anything like this has ever been done before.”

“I still don’t need details,” Bucky said. “I’ll bring a pink baby blanket to your shower, but until then, I do not need to know about this transaction.”

“Just because you have not had a boyfriend in the last four years doesn’t mean the rest of us aren’t still alive,” Steve said. “I mean, what have you been doing, hiding in the fridge?”

“Yeah, exactly. I don’t have a boyfriend because I’m too busy eating ice cream, that’s exactly right,” Bucky snorted.

Ah, so Bucky _did_ like pretty boys, then. “Maybe I should take over the shop occasionally and send you out to the bars,” Tony teased.

“You should,” Natasha said. “Bucky has been alone so long, I wonder that he does not know how to make friends anymore. Just this one, since he was eight, and me, because I do not let people not like me. I am very likable.”

“Yes, you are,” Bucky said in a voice that meant anything but.

“You’re delightful,” Tony assured her. He meant it, too. He’d known so many humans, but very few were so direct and honest.

Bucky spluttered, then sighed. “Whatever. Can we go now? I’m late for an hour’s worth of sighing at the ceiling in despair.”

Natasha waved her arms at him, while giving Tony a significant look. _You see? You see what I have to work with here?_

Tony grinned at her. “It’s okay, I’ll make sure he’s tucked in with his special blanket and a cup of tea.”

“Sounds perfect,” Bucky said. “What do I need to go find a boyfriend for? I’ve got Tony.”

Steve patted Bucky on the shoulder. “We’ll explain it to you when you’re older,” he said.

Bucky shoved Steve’s hand off, mock offended. “That is so weird,” Bucky complained. “I’m used to you bein’ shorter than I am.” 

Steve struck a pose, curling his arms to show off bulging biceps. “Gonna have to get used to the new me now, pal.”

“Gonna take you to the gym, see how much you can bench,” Bucky said. “You two be careful, don’t break the bed, or each other. And if you do, I’m gonna come laugh at you while you’re in the hospital.”

“At least that would get you out of the shop a little,” Natasha teased as she tucked her arm through Steve’s, apparently not at all disconcerted by her boyfriend’s sudden change of size.

Tony chuckled as they peeled off in the opposite direction. “I like her.”

“She’s _such_ a pain in the ass,” Bucky said. “But she’s good for Steve, so I put up with her.” He buffed his nails as if this was somehow both a great sacrifice for him, and something he was responsible for. “I introduced them. She exaggerates about the friends thing. I’m just picky about who I want in my life.”

“So I should be honored, then, to be counted among the rare few?” Tony said.

“I mean, if you’re counting it as an honor,” Bucky said, hesitated, then went on, “I consider you a friend, yes.”

Tony was unaccountably touched. He’d been a tool, a slave, a favored pet... but rarely, rarely a _friend_. “I’m glad. And yes, honored. You surround yourself with good people and simple beauty. I am honored, indeed, to be your friend.”

The door to the shop was open, standing slightly ajar. The Open/Closed flip sign was on the sidewalk, as if someone had tossed it out behind them.

“Tony--”

Tony wrapped a protective shield around Bucky before the syllables finished echoing in the air. “Me first,” he said. “Stay behind me.” He edged up to the door and pushed into the shop, scanning--

There was a man in the shop; he seemed almost ordinary, just an older man in a suit. Something sharp about his face, something rugged about his hairstyle. He wore the fading remnants of what must have been extraordinary male beauty in his youth.

“James,” the man said, “I’m so sorry it had to be you.”

“Secretary Pierce?” Bucky asked, flabbergasted. “What are you doing--”

Pierce reached for Tony’s lamp, right there, on the table in front of him. “Hail Hydra.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...sorry? :D


	6. Chapter 6

Bucky reacted, seemingly without thinking, dashing across the store and sliding as if to crash into the man, to knock the lamp away.

“Slave,” Pierce snapped, snatching up the lamp. “Freeze him.”

Tony had _no choice_. He stretched out his magic and caught Bucky before he collided with Pierce, locking Bucky’s muscles and encasing him in ice. It felt as if his own innards were wrapped in the same cold, a despair like none Tony had ever felt. Why did the good masters never last?

“Impressive,” Pierce said, looking down at Bucky’s frozen form. He laughed with no appreciable humor. “Very… _Empire Strikes Back_ of you. Keep him alive. Frozen, but aware. I have plans for him. You’ve served me well, Barnes. Ten Rings was being very stubborn about parting with their prize, but they did not have the vision to see what it could do for them. You’ve saved me money and time, in exchange for a very little bit of trouble. So… you will live.”

Tony shuddered inwardly. He’d been too long among mortals to believe that life was always a mercy. But Pierce held the lamp, and Tony could not disobey. A tendril of his power slithered into the ice, keeping Bucky’s heart beating, filling Bucky’s lungs with good air, keeping Bucky awake and aware.

Pierce hadn’t forbidden it, so Tony also dulled the pain of the cold, protected Bucky from its discomfort. It was the most he could do.

“I thought it was you--” Pierce came very close, his hand clamped too tight on Tony’s lamp. “The project seemed unbelievable. And it _was_. Nothing but magic. But it will work. You can make it work. Bring him. Come-- teleport me. East National bank, in the basement, Connecticut Avenue.”

Tony closed his eyes and spun out his awareness, finding the location that his master commanded. He grasped the cloth of space and wrinkled it, sliding them all across into the unpleasantly closed-in basement.

The man there, a scruffy looking mercenary, heavily armed, snapped to attention. “Hail Hydra,” he said.

“Relax, Rumlow,” Pierce said. It was a short enough distance that he didn’t even look uncomfortable at the transition, damn it all. “My mission was far more successful than we could have anticipated. Gather the Strike Team. We’ll be ready to go in a few days.”

“Yes sir,” Rumlow said. He glanced at Bucky, frozen and dripping. “What about _this_?”

“Oh, I have plans for him,” Pierce said. “Hydra needs a new Fist, don’t you think? Someone to lead the charge, and to die gloriously.”

Rumlow made a face, disappointed, perhaps.

“Don’t worry, live to fight another day,” Pierce said. “Now go.”

Rumlow didn’t quite salute. As he passed, he shoved the ice statue that was Bucky aside, and it fell to the ground. The ice cracked, partially shattered.

Pierce sighed. “No need to break the toys, Rumlow, just because you’re having one of your fits.” He kicked the bits of ice, stained with frozen blood and chunks of broken flesh. “Well, we’ll have to fix that, first. Stand him up, slave. Let’s see if there’s still anything to work with.”

Heartsick, Tony did as he was commanded. He tried to let Bucky see his regret, his pain, but he didn’t think Bucky was really in any state to see much of anything.

“Well, it’s not too bad,” Pierce said. “Arm’s broken off. We’ll have to replace that.” Pierce’s way of speaking, we, us, as if he had anything to do with Tony’s capabilities, beyond commanding them, was insulting. His casual disregard for another’s life, pain, was revolting. “Ah, James… this is your own fault, you know. You should not have gotten in my way. I was prepared to pay handsomely-- stop the bleeding, slave. I want him _alive_. I want him _loyal_. A loyal soldier of Hydra.”

Bucky could not be loyal to Pierce, to Hydra. The man he was would never allow it, not as he was. Soon enough, Pierce would order Tony to ensure Bucky’s loyalty, but for now, Tony could pretend to have misunderstood Pierce’s statements. He stopped up the severed arteries and veins, and watched Bucky’s eyes. _Forgive me for what he will make me do,_ he pleaded silently, knowing that no such forgiveness could ever be granted.

“Ah, here we go,” Pierce said, flipping through his phone’s photos. “I know that idiot, Zola, sent me-- make this, and attach it. He will literally be the Fist of Hydra.” Pierce showed Tony schematics for a fully functional, metal prosthetic. Heavy-- it would pull on Bucky’s spine, have to be set deeply into the musculature for it to not rip him in half just using it. And it would always, always _hurt_.

And his master had commanded it; Tony could not even protest. He built the arm as slowly as he dared, took what few liberties the schematics allowed to try to make the structure lighter, less painful -- though there wasn’t much he could do in that regard.

Finished, it was a beautiful, malevolent thing, the shimmering scales of a viper coiled to strike. Weeping inwardly, Tony lifted it to Bucky’s shoulder, numbed the entirety of Bucky’s left torso, and affixed the arm to Bucky’s skeleton, around the shoulder and down into the spine and ribcage. _I’m sorry, I’m so very sorry._

Pierce’s phone beeped and he looked at it. “Right. We’ll finish this later. Thaw him out, lock him in the vault. I have a meeting with President Ellis that I cannot miss. Stay out of sight, djinn.” He stuffed the lamp into a briefcase, straightened his tie, and called for his car.

Tony all but held the breath he didn’t need until Pierce had left.

He turned himself invisible -- out of sight, as ordered -- and moved Bucky into the vault as gently as he could, thawing the ice in the process and doing as much as he could, with the limited magic he could touch without a command, to ease Bucky’s pain. “I’m sorry,” he whispered.

The remaining ice crackled and creaked and then shattered as Bucky flexed. He turned the arm several times, staring at it. “What… what did _you do_ to me?”

“What he ordered,” Tony said miserably. “He will order more when he returns, and I cannot stop him.”

Bucky grimaced. He made a fist, flinched. Let his hand relax as much as he could. The rest of him was shaking, sodden. Cold. The bank vault wasn’t very big. Bucky looked around. “I’m sorry,” Bucky said. “I should have taken better care of you.”

That hurt more than if Bucky had cursed him. “It’s not your fault,” Tony said. “You’re not the one who needs to apologize. He’s going... he’s going to make me _turn_ you. Make you into one of them.”

Bucky managed a weak nod. There was nowhere to sit but on the floor, so he slumped there, leaning against the wall. The arm scraped and screamed all the way down, leaving rough scratches on the wall. “I heard him. Jesus--” he shifted a little, pain obvious on his face “-- bet you wish you were one of those knock-off Disney era genies now. Three wishes, you’re in, you’re out.”

“The format has some advantages,” Tony admitted. He couldn’t work much magic without his master’s order, but djinn were creatures of fire. He wrapped himself around Bucky, trying to share warmth, to dry some of the lingering icewater trapped in Bucky’s clothes. “I will do... what I can to protect you,” he promised. “I don’t know how much wiggle room he’ll give me, but I’ll use it as much as possible. Scant comfort, I know.”

“How much--” Bucky swallowed, his voice raw from screams he hadn’t issued. “Can you take a detour?”

Tony considered it. “If it’s not forbidden, and if it’s quick enough not to be noticed. Where would you have me go?”

“Go to Natasha. Tell her Alexander is on the move. You don’t have to tell her anything else. She-- she’ll find out what’s going on, I promise,” Bucky said.

“I can do that,” Tony said. “If there’s enough give in my leash.”

“Thank you,” Bucky said. “Go on. If he’s going to talk to the President, he’ll probably summon you soon.”

Bucky let his eyes slip shut, leaned against the wall. “Can-- can you help me sleep?”

Tony wasn’t sure if his magic would extend so far, but he cupped his hands around Bucky’s face, let Bucky feel his fingers pressing lightly against Bucky’s temples. “Rest,” he whispered, lacing it with as much of his essence as he could pull free of his bonds. “Dreamless and deep.”

Bucky’s head slipped to the side and he pressed cold lips against Tony’s palm, then… he was asleep.

Tony pressed his lips to Bucky’s forehead, then shot out of the bank like a lightning bolt. If he were to find Natasha before Pierce summoned him, he would have to move fast.

* * *

Natalie Rushman was an award winning novelist in the spy genre. She wrote terrifyingly realistic descriptions of political machinations and the secret wars that countries waged, sometimes even against their own people.

She was stunningly beautiful as well as talented, and recognized wherever she went. 

Theoretically.

Except Tony found her sipping chai in a run down coffee shop in the Lower East side, pecking at an ancient laptop. And not a single mortal in the shop seemed to recognize her.

She looked up as Tony approached, but seeing no one, she shook her head and returned to her work.

Tony checked the surrounding people, but none of them were paying her the slightest attention. He slid in close to her and murmured, “Ms. Rushman.”

" _You may as well call me Natasha_ ," she murmured. In Russian. " _Mechanical? I didn't see you_."

“I’m not sure you’d believe me if I told you,” Tony responded. “I have a message for you.”

" _I'm listening_ ," she said.

“I’m to tell you that Alexander is on the move.” He watched her face closely, trying to decipher her every shift of expression.

She shifted slightly in her chair, tapped her keyboard. Tony watched her pull up a mail program. "This information is reliable?"

“In the extreme.” He hesitated. “He’s got Bucky.”

Natasha’s fingers hesitated over the keyboard. “Got. Or retired?”

“Got,” Tony said. “He has... plans. Be careful.”

“We’re on it,” Natasha said, utterly confident. “Anything else you can tell me?”

Tony struggled against the compulsion not to cause harm to his master, but Pierce hadn’t specifically ordered protection, which left him a little room to maneuver. “He’s got some unusual resources on this. You’ll need some help.” He gave her the address of Rhodey’s museum. “Get into the storage archives, box WM-ROX. And if you see me... do not trust me.”

“Compromised. Got it.” Natasha returned to typing, then closed her laptop, preparing to leave.

“...Thank you,” Tony whispered. “You’re a good friend.”

“Good luck.”

* * *

Natasha Romanoff sighed. Twiddled the lock. Honestly, fine arts security was so lax. If making forgeries wasn’t already more profitable, she’d become an art thief. She was still in the process of convincing her boyfriend that forgeries weren’t immoral and the only person who got hurt was some rich asshole who bought a fake anyway.

Steve was remarkably… upright, sometimes.

She would hate that about him, if she didn’t love it.

“I have no idea what I’m doing,” she announced to the air as she slipped into the warehouse. A bad habit, talking to herself. Usually she was talking to her book characters, who frequently did not do what she wanted them to do, no matter how much she argued with them.

Book characters were only slightly less stubborn than her boyfriend.

She was probably going to have to explain this to him. Sooner, rather than later, since James was involved. 

She’d been sorry to see him go, back when they were both in the service. He’d been a breath of fresh air; a man who was a spy and an assassin who still believed he was doing the right thing. Who refused to compromise, and who hadn’t let the work make him hard.

“Someone needs a better drop location,” she declared. “No one would ever believe this in one of my novels.”

She walked down the rows, checking the labels.

There it was. Row WM, box ROX.

“And my left hand to god, if this is an actual box of rocks, I will hurt someone.” She pried up the wooden lid and sifted through the straw. “A lamp? Really?”

She had seen one like it at James’s shop recently, however. Not quite the same. This one was a shiny grey metal, accented with red gems, where James’ lamp was gold, accented with red paint and blue gems. Both pretty. Probably exceptionally rare and valuable, to a collector.

She held it in one hand and then brushed the heel of her hand over the side, like she saw people do in movies. It was like sleeping men; you had to kiss them to see if they woke up, she supposed.

She did not, however, actually expect a thick roil of dark smoke to pour out of the lamp. She was so startled, she almost dropped it, fumbling a little and clutching it close as the smoke towered over her and two red... eyes? formed near the top, frowning down at her. “What is it that you wish?” it demanded, its voice booming like thunder.

“ _Dzhinn_?” She resorted to Russian in shock. “Wait, wait, wait, like, actual genie of the lamp?”

The coal-bright eyes shifted a little, and the smoke contracted some until those eyes were nearly level with Natasha’s. “I know you,” it said, somewhat less booming this time.

“So does everyone else in the free world, and some not so free,” Natasha said. “A man named Tony Stark told me to come get this box. And, I suppose, you.”

The smoke contracted still further, until it resolved into the top half of a man, dark-skinned and hawk-nosed. “I knew it,” he said in an altogether normal-sounding voice, if somewhat annoyed. “You’re the girlfriend of that experiment guy. Rogers. What’s Tony gone and done now, that he has to interrupt my vacation?” He folded his arms across his chest.

“ _Colonel Rhodes_?” She knew she was shocked, staring at him. But it was the same, the same beaky nose and fierce eyes. “I investigated you, you checked out, you-- what the _hell_ is going on here?”

“You think a genie can’t put together an airtight background if he needs one?” Rhodes said, looking somewhat smug. “How much time do you have?”

“Not a lot, apparently,” she said, putting it together. “If this is -- you. Then Tony is also-- something like you? Are you allowed to answer questions, or does it count as one of my three wishes?” She was already trying to work them out, what things she would wish for, if she got three, and had she used them up already--

Rhodes pressed his fingers to his forehead as if he had a headache. “This is not Rinkydink Storytime,” he said. “There’s no three wishes. There’s just a genie, and a master.” He shot her an unimpressed look. “In case you’re having trouble with it, that’s you.”

“Great,” she said. “Tony’s in trouble. He’s compromised. So is James Barnes. Does that mean anything to you?”

Rhodes frowned. “Barnes is Tony’s master. How is a genie compro-- Shit, someone else took the lamp.” He scrubbed his hands over his face. “Do you know who? If it was those Ten Rings assholes who had him before, this could get tricky.”

“A very dangerous man, Secretary of Defense, Alexander Pierce,” Natasha said. 

“ _That guy_ ,” Rhodes growled. “That guy is _not_ right in the head. Do you know where they are?”

“He had a meeting with Ellis this afternoon, in closed chambers,” Natasha said. “After that, I lost him. He got in a car and-- never arrived at his destination.”

Rhodes rubbed at his forehead again. “Okay. I’m going to start looking for them. If he’s told Tony to hide them, that’s going to take some time. What’ve you got that’ll help?”

“One super soldier that _you_ apparently made, and the best damn spy on the planet. In case you’re having trouble with it, that would be me. I can probably get us some additional backup. Air support. If you can get me close enough to Pierce, I can shoot him.”

Rhodes grinned. “Okay, I like you. You’re going to want to find a way to make sure no one can take that lamp off you until we get our boys back. Let’s go get your super soldier, and you can work out support while I’m getting a bead on them. You can _try_ to shoot Pierce, but if he’s told Tony to protect him, that’s going to be difficult.” He extended a hand to her, one eyebrow raised challengingly.

Well, she’d always wanted to do this; she whipped out the cuffs she carried just in case of emergencies, clipped one end around the lamp’s handle and then cuffed herself to it. “This a good start?”


	7. Chapter 7

Years.

Tony had spent years hating the Ten Rings with every fiber of his immortal being.

And now they were scattered like so many broken toys, dead on the ground, or dying. But not by Tony’s will or wish. Pierce had paid them back for the apparent insult of not selling Tony’s lamp to Pierce.

Not by Tony’s hand, no. He had been wished to send the Winter Soldier into battle for a test run. 

Bucky, who was a sharp-shooter even without Tony’s interference.

Wiped of memories, since it seemed to be the only thing Tony could do in order to enforce compliance. Weapons -- to Bucky’s request, make and model. Armor. And sent in. Alone. To wipe out the Ten Rings.

And he’d done it.

Tony floated just behind Pierce’s shoulder as they surveyed the damage, feeling half-sick with horror -- not for the deaths of the Ten Rings, but for the toll the act was certain to take on Bucky when he was allowed to be himself again.

_If_ he was ever allowed to be himself again. If Pierce didn’t intend to just run the Winter Soldier roughshod through every one of his enemies until one of them finally overcame Bucky’s magically-enhanced skills and killed him.

“Good field test,” Pierce said, looking around with satisfaction. “Round up the weapons, crate them, and get them on the trucks. The hard way.” Pierce took some obscure delight in watching Tony fetch and carry, as if he couldn’t do the work faster with magic. “Get the Soldier to assist you. He can eat when it’s done.”

Ah, pure sadism. Tony didn’t really care about doing things physically, even if it was annoying to be so slow when the job could be done with a snap of the fingers. Tony was exactly as strong as he needed to be, didn’t tire or need to eat or sleep.

Bucky, on the other hand, was still mortal, despite the enhancements Pierce had made Tony give him. He was strong, but it was a strength with limits. He could endure a lot of damage, but still felt the pain, and it still weakened him. He could function for days without sleep, but it eventually took a toll. His enhancements burned fuel at least four times faster than a normal man, and withholding food for so much as a single day was an unbearable torment.

Which meant that Tony would have to work hard and fast to ensure Bucky didn’t suffer any more than necessary.

He turned away -- he refused to speak to Pierce unless commanded -- and went to find Bucky, manifesting legs as he went.

He found Bucky crouched in the center of the carnage, field-stripping his long rifle. “Bucky. He wants us to load the trucks.”

The man who looked up at Tony bore all the markings of being Bucky, same eyes, same jaw, same perfect features, same mobile, expressive mouth. But there wasn’t much left of Bucky looking out of the Soldier’s mask. “Of course.” He stood, wrapping the pieces of the rifle in its case and slinging it. He would attend it later; Pierce was adamant about that, too. A good soldier took care of the weapons.

Tony matched his strength to Bucky’s, to make it easier when they began hauling crates, and waved toward a pile of weapons. He began to pack them in a crate nearby. “I think these are some of mine,” he observed idly.

Bucky licked his lip; the skin there was dry and cracked. Basic hygiene was not a thing that Pierce seemed to think Bucky had a need for. He was hosed off once in a while so that he didn’t stink, but his hair was unwashed and growing ragged, skin chapped. Lip split. “You made them well.”

“More’s the pity,” Tony muttered, tucking guns and parts into the crate, nestling them in the protective straw. He wondered if Natasha had found Rhodey, if they were having any luck tracking them down. Pierce was entirely too smart; he had commanded Tony to protect and hide them from all manner of tracking.

If Rhodey was having to find them by literally flying around the world and looking in every nook and cranny... Well. Djinn were fast, but such a search could well take years.

“He’s taking us to Budapest?” Bucky wondered as they were loading the last crates. “There’s a shop there. Nice books.”

Tony doubted that Pierce would allow them time to peruse the shops, but he just nodded. “Yes, I’m sure.” He eyed Bucky curiously; the Winter Soldier rarely allowed that much personality through. “What do you like to read?”

“Ivanhoe,” Bucky said. “Les Miserables. Shardik.” He shoved another crate into the truck, winced. Put his right hand to the elbow joint of the left, tried to shake it out.

“Problem with the arm?” Tony drifted closer. “I can take a look, try to fix it.”

“Shock-stick,” he agreed. “Melded two gears. It’s _grinding_.” 

Tony found himself very close to Bucky, barely a breath away, his hand on the artificial arm. Bucky barely looked at him, just a flicker through lowered lashes, but there was something-- something in that look. A gleam. Just a little.

Was Bucky recovering from the memory wipe? “Set it up on the crate, here, let me have a look.”

Bucky sat, leaning back against the side of the truck, while Tony prodded gently at the access panel. “You knew these men,” Bucky said, very soft. So softly that Tony wasn’t even sure what Bucky was saying, until he said it again. “You knew them.”

Tony suppressed the urge to look around again, to make sure the dead men were still there, still dead. “Yes. They held my lamp for a time.”

Something in Bucky eased a bit, some tension that Tony hadn’t realized was there. “Then they were not _good men_.”

“Good men have held my lamp,” Tony said. _You were one of them._ “But no, I would not count the Ten Rings among those few.”

There was the bit of charred metal, a few cracked parts and one burned wire. Barely a moment’s work to fix, almost no magic at all. Bucky put his hand on Tony’s where it rested against the prosthetic. “Thank you.”

Tony closed his eyes and shivered. “You shouldn’t thank me,” he said softly. “I’ve hurt you so much.”

“You didn’t,” Bucky said. “You know who is to blame.”

But there was no more time for talk; Pierce had the lamp to hand and was rubbing his finger over the spout, an obscene and unwelcome shiver over Tony’s spine. “Make sure he’s in compliance, then, take us to Budapest. Untraceable, unfindable. Protected.”

Tony shuddered as he turned to Bucky, brushed his fingers down the side of Bucky’s face -- a wholly unnecessary gesture, but one that gave him comfort. He hoped it comforted Bucky somewhat, as well. “Rest now,” he whispered as he pushed Bucky’s memories and personality back into their concealing cloud.

Pierce had a suite already reserved, and Tony teleported them right to it. In the main room was something like a locker, vaguely coffin-shaped. “Put him in there and lock it. It bothers me when he’s skulking around like a shadow.”

Anger ground through Tony’s chest like a millstone. There were a dozen different ways Tony could think of to keep Bucky from lurking and annoying Pierce without locking the man in a cabinet. He could voice none of them in the face of Pierce’s command.

He turned to catch Bucky’s eyes. “Look at me,” he said gently. “Look only at me, at my eyes.” _I’m sorry_ , he mouthed silently, and fixed himself in Bucky’s vision as he moved Bucky into the box. Pierce hadn’t said Bucky must remain aware, so he slipped Bucky carefully into sleep as the lock turned.

Once Bucky was out of the way, Pierce turned his attention toward more decadent entertainment, having Tony summon up pretty girls to keep him company. “Be gone with you,” Pierce gestured, waving a hand toward the lamp. 

Tony disappeared immediately, before Pierce could realize that he hadn’t actually ordered Tony into the lamp. _Away_ , yes, that was exactly where he wanted to be. Anywhere but here.

No, not _anywhere_.

He had standing orders to keep Pierce and the Winter Soldier and the lamp untraceable, but there was nothing that said he couldn’t do any tracing of his own. He flung himself into the ether, grasping for the comfort of Rhodey’s essence.

“-- you are the worst, most persnickety--” Tony caught the sound of Rhodey’s voice, annoyed. “-- an’ this is my _vacation_ \--”

“Rhodeybear!” Tony exclaimed, barreling straight into the other djinn.

“Don’t even _twitch_ ,” someone said, holding a silver knife to Tony’s throat, coated in lamb’s blood, one of the few weapons that could even so much as pierce a djinn’s immortal flesh.

Tony froze, eyes going wide. “Rhodey?” he whispered.

“You’re compromised,” Natasha said. “And I don’t want you putting a hand on my djinn.”

“I’m not _your_ djinn,” Rhodey snorted. “This is a mutually beneficial relationship that’s gonna end as soon as we get your friend back. That’s what we agreed on.”

There was just the slightest hesitation in Rhodey’s tone. Whatever the master said, the relationship between djinn and master was only over when the master put the lamp down. His gaze drifted from the knife to Natasha’s wrist; she was cuffed to the lamp. Looked like she had no illusions about the nature of their relationship.

“I’m compromised,” Tony agreed, because that was true; at any moment, Pierce could call him back, order him to do anything. “But I’m not under compulsion right now. Rhodey can tell. He told me to _be gone_.”

“I will not hesitate,” Natasha said, but she drew back, letting Tony breathe, letting his skin shiver from the touch of the blade. She kept it in hand. 

“We’ve been working on _bullets_ ,” Rhodey said. He waved a hand to indicate their setup for manufacturing; piles of gunpowder, casings, several vials of lambs’ blood. 

Tony nearly choked when he saw them. “Are you planning to wage war on djinnkind?” he demanded.

“No, just you,” Natasha said. “In theory, it’ll crack any shield you put up against us. The knife works. We’re going to test the bullets.”

Not the worst plan, actually. Tony’s shields were strong, even amongst his kind. “Good,” he said. “Before we do that, before he summons me back: we’re in Budapest.” He looked from Rhodey to Natasha. “We’ll be there several days, at least, I think.”

“Query, since it’s come up,” Natasha said. “Has anyone held more than one lamp? Is it possible?”

“It’s possible to hold multiple vessels,” Tony said. “Aladdin -- the real one, not the Disney one -- had both a lamp and a ring.”

“Good,” Natasha said. “Steve doesn’t have the right mindset to hold a lamp. The first thing he’d do is wish for your freedom.”

Tony shuddered. “You can’t free a djinn without making them mortal first. Though,” he conceded, “I might consider it, if it got me out of Pierce’s hands.”

“Yeah, I don’t think Steve will think that through particularly well,” Natasha said. “And rather than put you right in the middle of a moral versus mortal quandary when we need tactical support? Nuh-uh, freedom can wait.”

Rhodey was staring at him in shock. “It’s not _freedom_ , it’s _death_ ,” he said. “Tones, you can’t possibly mean that.”

Tony couldn’t quite meet Rhodey’s gaze. “If it was just one more venal despot, I’d wait him out,” he said. “But the things he plans... He should _not_ have a djinn’s power at his hand.” His immortality and magic, in exchange for keeping Pierce’s plans at bay? Worth it, if that’s what was required. That didn’t mean he _wanted_ to become mortal. He drew a breath that he didn’t need. “Don’t tell me your plans. If he finds out I was anywhere other than my lamp, he’ll ask questions. He’s very, very good at asking questions. Let’s test your bullets, and then I’ll go back where he thinks I should be like a good little slave so you can get on with it.”

Natasha nodded. “There’s an abandoned CIA outpost in San Jose. They have an underground firing range. Soundproofed. Teleport us all directly in, and we’ll get to work. And Tony? For what it’s worth, if I kill you, I’m sorry.”

“It’s worth more than you’d think,” Tony said, because she actually meant it. “I don’t have enough of a leash to teleport someone else, honeybear; you’ll have to do it.”

Rhodey nodded his head in a resigned fashion. Natasha was still his master, but she gave him a lot of leeway. Smarting off to a master was more freedom than most djinn had. 

The bullets _worked_ ; Tony couldn’t wrap a shield tight or make one strong enough that Natasha couldn’t shoot through it, though she had to be careful. The ricochet could kill someone (including her, through Rhodey’s shield) if she bounced the bullet exactly wrong.

Tony had never seen anything like it.

“That is... that is _deeply_ unsettling,” he said as they wound down the trials. He drifted over to the table where Natasha was unloading her gun and putting the remaining bullets away. He peered into the box. Several dozen instruments of death. Tony’s death, if need be.

Maybe being freed would be the kinder path, after all. If he were going to die, he wanted to at least have a mortal’s span left to him. Not that fate would give him that choice.

Natasha holstered the gun. “You care about him,” she said, apropos of nothing. “Don’t you?”

Tony didn’t pretend to misunderstand. “Yes. He’s a good man. He doesn’t deserve any of this.”

“No, he doesn’t,” Natasha said. “Try to get some rest. We’ll need every loophole you can give us.”

“Trust me, I’m squeezing through as many as I can.” He hugged Rhodey -- carefully, all too aware of the cool and measuring stare Natasha was giving him -- and then backed away. “Budapest,” he reminded them. “Don’t... don’t wait too long.”


	8. Chapter 8

The light seemed to go out, little by little. Every task, every job, everything that Pierce was making Bucky do, every thing that Tony could do faster, easier, safer, was driving that light further, deeper, until it seemed like it was all but gone.

The Winter Soldier left death and destruction in his wake. It sometimes seemed like Bucky was unstoppable. Even when he was injured, he dragged himself back to Pierce. Back to Tony.

Finally, Bucky had what Pierce wanted: server blades for an experimental weapons system.

Project Insight.

It could target anyone in the world in under three minutes. High capacity rail guns could eliminate the targets as required.

In less than twenty four hours, Pierce would be almost unstoppable. Insight would identify threats and eliminate them before they even got _close_.

He wouldn’t need a Winter Soldier. Hell, he wouldn’t even need a djinn, not really.

What the hell was taking Natasha and Rhodey so long? They were running out of time!

Tony examined the server blades. They looked so innocuous. And they’d be so _easy_ to subvert, if Pierce wasn’t keeping Tony’s leash short enough to choke.

“Limited imagination,” Pierce said. Tony’s lamp was closed tight in one hand, and he rubbed at the metal, obscenely and constantly. “Ten Rings could have ruled the world and they were satisfied with guns and bombs from a dirty little cave. I should have taken you away from them years ago. Soldier!”

Bucky snapped to attention. He watched Pierce with a softly confused expression, like he didn’t know where he was, or even who he was.

“I’m a realist,” Pierce said. “The one man who knows that building a better world means tearing down the old one. It’s only a matter of time before the world tears itself to pieces; a dirty bomb in Moscow, an EMP in Chicago. Aliens. Disease. I can bring order to the lives of seven billion people by sacrificing twenty million. If I have the courage to take the next step.”

Bucky didn’t respond, but his gaze flicked to Tony for a second, terror and loathing and grief. And then he was back, attention on Pierce. Waiting for his orders, like a perfect little soldier.

“Take the blades, install them,” Pierce ordered. 

Bucky picked up the cards, tucked them into his belt. He turned to walk to the central computer, not hesitating, not thinking about what he was doing. But there was a heaviness in his step that said he knew what he was doing. He was _aware_.

“Buck,” someone said, a man dressed in armor that nearly matched the gear Pierce had put Bucky in, except for being blue rather than black. “I can’t let you do that.”

“What the hell is he doing here?”

“Takes a djinn to fight a djinn,” Steve Rogers said, holding up a familiar dark grey lamp. “Rhodey, get him.”

One of the few freedoms Pierce had granted Tony was the freedom to protect Pierce. Tony slid between Pierce and Rhodey. “You know I can’t allow that,” he said, pleading with his eyes.

Where the hell was Natasha? Why did _Steve_ have Rhodey’s lamp? Steve wasn’t made to be a master, he couldn’t stomach owning and commanding a sentient creature.

“Soldier!”

Bucky stared at his friend, then his expression went blank and he drew a gun--

“Tones--” Rhodey said, and then it was on, djinn against djinn. Fighting, grappling. Blows and hidden weapons and cracks in the infinite sky as they struggled for weapons against each other. Each strike was agony. Watching Rhodey’s face as they fought, the way he flinched away from Tony’s defenses.

He was trying not to hurt Tony. Which Tony appreciated. Tony didn’t want to hurt Rhodey, either. But he couldn’t, _could not_ allow any harm to come to Pierce. “Rhodey, please--” But Rhodey was under orders, as well. Tony threw out a blast of ice that made Rhodey stagger, gave Tony enough pause to glance back at Bucky, hoping against hope... Humans _could_ defy their masters. If they had enough of a reason.

“Your name is James Buchanan Barnes,” Steve was yelling. “You’re my best friend.”

“You are in my way!”

Bucky screamed, and the metal arm came down, again and again, smashing at Steve’s face, driving him down.

There was a flash of color -- not from anywhere Tony had been expecting it -- and a bullet smashed into the shield he’d put around Pierce, shattering it.

From behind Pierce, Natasha appeared out of nowhere. She leaped in, her elbow aimed precisely for Pierce’s arm and Tony’s lamp went spinning to the ground, just barely outside of Pierce’s reach.

“Hi,” she said, smiling brightly. “Did I step on your moment?”

 _The lamp_. Without orders, there wasn’t much Tony could do, but without Pierce’s hand on it, enforcing his strict controls, Tony had a _tiny_ bit of leeway... He rushed forward in a feint against Rhodey and let the wind of his passing knock the lamp further from Pierce’s reach, sending it skittering and sliding until it was almost to where Bucky and Steve were still grappling.

Bucky reached for it.

“Soldier! Get the lamp!” Pierce yelled. All of everything that Tony had done to him remained in force. He was the Winter Soldier. He had no real memory of who he was. “Get those helicarriers on line!”

Bucky picked up the lamp, gazed over at Piece for a moment. “Kill Rogers,” Pierce said. “He’s in the way.”

But with the lamp in Bucky’s hands, all of Bucky’s standing orders for Tony were back in effect. There weren’t many, but-- “I should warn you, Bucky,” Tony said gently, willing Bucky to look away from Pierce, to meet his own eyes, “wishing death on Steve would be a serious moral error.”

“Wha--” Bucky’s hand stopped, midway to rubbing the lamp. “He’s my mission.”

“He’s your _friend_ ,” Tony said. “Using me to hurt him or kill him would be very wrong.”

“What are you waiting for?” Pierce demanded. “Get on with it!”

“I--” Bucky’s eyes went wide, so wide that Tony could see the whites all the way around, his mouth open as memories trickled in. “I don’t-- I have to finish my mission.” But he hadn’t made a wish, and he hadn’t moved.

“Do we need this guy anymore?” Nat wondered, putting her little gun right up to Pierce’s forehead. “Or can I just kill him? He’s pissing me off.”

“Wait,” Tony said, not taking his eyes off Bucky. “I want him to watch this unravel.” Because Tony could be a vindictive bastard sometimes.

“Tony?” Bucky took a step forward, toward the djinn. “Tony-- Tony, what did I do?”

“Enough, pal,” Steve said, sitting up slowly. His face was smashed in half a dozen places, bleeding and bruised. “You did enough.”

Tony drifted toward Bucky, closed his hands over Bucky’s where they grasped the lamp. “You got me back.”

“Tony--” Bucky was pushing the lamp toward Tony. “Tell me what to do.”

“I can’t tell you what to do,” Tony said. “That’s backwards, I can’t-- If you’re looking for good suggestions, though, you could tell me to fix these server blades so these helicarriers won’t kill any innocent people. Or you could tell me to heal Steve. Or even just... take you home.”

“I don’t want to kill anyone,” Bucky gasped. He staggered, fell to his knees, but kept hold of Tony’s lamp like it was a rope to a drowning man. “Steve… oh, God.”

“It’s okay, pal,” Steve said. “We had a nice distraction, didn’t we? Nat?”

“Yeah. Rhodey, take care of it. Blades and bruises and bad guys.” But _Steve_ was holding Rhodey’s lamp, so why-- Tony looked at Natasha and she winked at him, then held up-- Rhodey’s lamp, shrouded in a faint mist as its invisibility wore off. Steve was holding a fake. “It’s okay,” she told him calmly.

Tony closed his eyes briefly in relief. He wasn’t precisely _tired_ \-- djinn were, strictly speaking, tireless -- but he didn’t want to deal with Pierce and Pierce’s horrific plans any more, even to clean up after them. He knelt beside Bucky, brushed his fingers lightly through Bucky’s hair. “It’s over now,” he promised. “It’s done.”

“Can we go home?”

“I got this, Tones,” Rhodey promised. “Natasha’s one of the good masters.”

“Would you say it if I wasn’t?”

Rhodey flipped her off. “Bitch.”

Natasha cackled, still not taking her gun off Pierce. “I could use a cop or three. Maybe some Interpol.”

Tony glanced up long enough to exchange glances with Rhodey, to be certain that Rhodey did, in fact, have this. Then he wrapped an arm around Bucky’s shoulders. “We can go home,” he agreed. “Just say the word.”

“Take me home,” Bucky said, “please.”

The last thing Tony heard as he wrapped his magic around Bucky was Pierce, biting down, and a choked, “Hail Hydra,” coming from his mouth as he collapsed.

Tony cared very little whether Pierce died. He might even be somewhat glad of it, except that it would make uprooting his poisonous organization more difficult. He spun them away before Bucky could see, and reached out a thread ahead of them to set the shop to rights, so Bucky wouldn’t be distressed by whatever had befallen it over the last months.

They landed with nary a bump in the center of the shop. “Home, master,” Tony said softly.

Bucky choked out a sob, and then another, curling around Tony’s lamp as if it gave him some comfort. “Hold me.”

It was a command; Tony couldn’t disobey. But he’d never been given an order he wanted so badly. He pulled Bucky into his arms, manifested a sofa for them to half-collapse onto, and stroked Bucky’s hair and back, murmuring soft, sweet things in all the languages he’d ever known.

* * *

Bucky was sobbing; he couldn’t seem to stop. Every time he thought he had it under control, another memory stabbed him, a million shattered, sharp pieces of his life.

“Tony--” It was on the tip of his tongue to ask, _please, please, let me forget_. 

“I’m here,” Tony said, hands warm and gentle and immeasurably strong as they held him. “What do you want, what do you need?”

“It worked? You-- you got to Nat? I-- we made it better?” He sniffled, leaving a line of tears and snot on the horrible uniform, stiff and unyielding armor. He didn’t know what he was anymore. Not human, that was for sure. 

“It worked,” Tony assured him. “We stopped him from putting his plans into place. I expect they’ll be along soon, Nat and Steve and Rhodey, to make sure you’re okay.”

“New lamps for old,” Bucky said. “He just walked right in and took you. I don’t… I’m sorry. I was careless.”

“I didn’t think it was in enough danger to warn you,” Tony pointed out. “We’ll... come up with some way to disguise it, from now on. Or make a decoy, like the one Steve had. Just in case.”

“You’re… you’re going to stay?” Bucky wondered, but then, of course Tony would stay. Bucky was his master. His _owner_.

“Of course I’m going to stay.”

“Will you tell me the truth?” Bucky asked. “Is there somewhere you want to be? Someplace that I can let you go, safely. No more masters. No more wishes.”

“The only way to free a djinn is to destroy their magic and make them mortal,” Tony said, shaking his head. His hands kept stroking, petting Bucky soothingly. “I don’t mind staying. Not for you.”

“Do you _want_ to stay? You-- you could go on vacation, with your friend,” Bucky asked, not sure what he wanted. He wanted Tony to stay; he liked Tony. It didn’t have anything to do with wishes or power, but for the djinn himself. King of wishful thinking, Bucky sneered at himself. Tony would do what Bucky told him, and that was inherently dangerous.

“I like you,” Tony said softly. “You’re a good man. I don’t want to leave you.”

“Okay,” Bucky said. He might reconsider it later, but right now, he was not a good man. He was selfish and exhausted, and he just wanted someone to hold him, to tell him everything was going to be okay. And that maybe he could believe that. He found himself nestled against Tony’s chest, cushioned on the puff of smoke that made up his lower body. “You can’t have legs?” Bucky complained, half-hearted, trying to arrange himself around the coil.

“I can, if you’d like,” Tony said, sounding amused. “I thought they’d be too hard and lumpy.”

“It’s not quite the same,” Bucky said. “Besides, I seen your ass the last time you had legs, and _lumpy_ ain’t the word.”

Tony laughed, a warm chuckle that vibrated under Bucky’s cheek. “Rhodey has no idea why I put so much work into that ass,” he confided. “He doesn’t get it. But you do.”

“I’d _like_ to,” Bucky muttered, resting his head against a firm thigh. “Not today. Today, I wann… want to get rid of this armor, an’... get some actual sleep. An’ maybe have an actual _meal_. And try to forget this ever happened.”

Tony hummed, and the armor disappeared, replaced with Bucky’s oldest, softest sweats. The rich smell of hot food tickled Bucky’s nose. “You may prefer to eat before you sleep,” Tony suggested, “so your hunger doesn’t wake you.”

Bucky opened one eye and glared at Tony. “Now I gotta sit up,” he whined, but did it anyway. He wasn’t even sure how Tony knew everything that Bucky liked. Warm brie with pastry wrapped around it and almonds on top, that jelly cranberry stuff that he never seemed to eat except at Thanksgiving. Cornbread with honey. Mac and cheese. Comfort food, and Bucky was suddenly _starving_. Needing those sweet tastes and filling carbs. A hundred, a thousand memories of eating with friends and family, the touch of a hand in hard times, translated directly into a few bites of good, simple food.

Tony sat across the table from him, chin propped on his hands, watching Bucky eat as if it was the most fascinating thing he’d seen in a decade. He even let Bucky press a few tastes and nibbles on him. “You’re so beautiful when you’re happy,” Tony said, smiling.

“That beats ‘you’re cute when you’re angry,’” Bucky pointed out. “We… uh, we can’t fix what happened, can we? I mean, you said dead people don’t like to come back. We can’t… do anything about that.”

“No,” Tony said. “We could go back in time and change things, but then who knows? Pierce might get his doomsday weapons, then, and the world would be the worse for it. And trying to bring the dead back... They really, _really_ don’t like it.” Tony shuddered a little.

“It… It doesn’t matter that some of those people weren’t any better than Pierce,” Bucky said. “What happened to them-- that was evil. But-- maybe something good can come of it. They had wealth and supplies. Their victims could-- they could make good use of it. Pierce is wealthy, billions in his own accounts, and-- maybe we could make a… I don’t know. Some sort of philanthropy?”

Tony shook his head, smiling. “You’re so good. We can make that happen, yes. Maybe after you rest, we can talk about the possibilities, decide what would be the best course?”

Bucky closed his teeth over a sound that might have been a laugh, or a sob. “I’m not,” he swore. “Gonna buy me some forgiveness and peace. That’s all.” He put his fork down, noticing that he’d eaten almost everything Tony put in front of him, and it had barely put a dent in his hunger. But he was also exhausted. “Come on, let’s go upstairs. I need-- I need some sleep. Tell Steve I’m sorry, an’ I’ll talk to them about this.” Jesus, Steve was gonna be mad, because the truth was going to come out like a skeleton in the closet. This was all his fault. And yet, he was still selfish, because he couldn’t help but ask, “Will you stay with me, while I sleep?”

“I don’t want to leave your side for a moment,” Tony said seriously. “I will send a message to Steve, but if you want me to leave you alone, you’ll have to order me away.”

Bucky reached out, and for a moment, he had forgotten, but that shiny left hand of his reminded him-- and he almost drew it back, worried that Tony would find it grotesque, or some sort of shameful reminder. But it wasn’t. It was the best Tony could have done for him at that point, and Bucky-- Bucky didn’t want to take it back. It was done, let it be done. He closed his fingers around Tony’s hand. “I don’t want you to go. Not ever.”

“Then I won’t,” Tony said, as if it were easy. He leaned in and kissed Bucky’s forehead gently. “Come and rest,” he urged. “I’ll keep watch.”

Like they were kids at a sleepover, Bucky kept hold of Tony’s hand the entire way up the stairs and into his room. For a moment, Bucky considered it -- and then shuddered. The way Pierce had Tony _stand guard_. Sitting at his bedside was almost worse. Like a mother with a sick child. And then, without considering his actions at all, Bucky tugged them both over into the bed, falling face first onto his pillow.

Tony didn’t protest at all, wrapping himself around Bucky as if seeking the maximum possible amount of contact. “Sleep,” he murmured into Bucky’s hair. “I’m not going anywhere.”


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is mostly smuts; if you'd like to skip it, click the **[***SKIP***]** link when things start to get going. If nothing else, there's a note at the end that you should read.

Tony could sleep, if he wanted, or at least create some approximation thereof. But he didn’t want to. Some furious and frightened part of him would not rest, would not leave Bucky any less than perfectly guarded.

So he kept watch, summoning his _dumi_ to patrol around the shop and the apartment as he curled close against Bucky’s side, touching and stroking to soothe Bucky’s sleep, to chase away the nightmares. He stifled the usual interruptions -- noise from outside, alarms, even the shop clock. He wanted Bucky to sleep as long as possible, to let healing rest do its work, that wholly human miracle.

Tony could see in the dark as well as in the light. He found himself fascinated by the subtle shifts of light and color across Bucky’s face and hair as the night rolled by them -- silvery shimmer of moonlight and the dusky indigo of midnight, slowly fading to the vibrant rose of dawn. His master was beautiful as well as kind, and Tony would do everything in his power to protect Bucky from any more pain.

Toward morning, Bucky shivered again, eyelids flicking as he moved with yet another dream, but this one didn’t seem a nightmare. This one was something infinitely different. Bucky curled closer, mouth moving soundlessly against Tony’s immortal flesh. His hips shifted, rocked. A soft, breathy sort of moan came out of his throat.

“... mmm- tony,” Bucky murmured, low and heated.

Tony grinned and brushed his lips across Bucky’s temple. That was something of a novelty; Tony didn’t think he’d ever featured in _those_ sorts of dreams. When humans coveted him, it was the power they lusted for, not _him_. “I’m here,” he whispered, soothing. If it was only a passing dream, Bucky should have the chance to slip back into sleep.

Bucky tipped his head up, almost leaning into the kiss. “Are you?” He still seemed mostly asleep, and he wriggled up against Tony, pressing close. There was a distinctive something going on under those comfortable sweatpants. Bucky dragged his right hand across Tony’s chest, fingers light over his belly. “You are so beautiful.”

Tony chuckled. “As are you. Are you sure you wouldn’t like me to bring you a pretty boy to wake you up?”

“‘M awake,” Bucky said, talking mostly into the pillow. It might not even have been a lie. “And I don’t want some conjured pretty boy. Got my eye on someone else.”

“Have you, now?” Tony traced a slow, teasing spiral over Bucky’s shoulder. “And who would that be?”

“I like _you_ ,” Bucky pointed out, then he squinched his eyes closed, mouth making a little frown of dissatisfaction. “Sorry-- I--”

“That wasn’t a command,” Tony pointed out, “or even a wish. I am still entirely in possession of my will. And as it happens, I like you, too.” He wriggled somewhat closer and reminded his summoned body how it was that humans demonstrated affection and desire. There was an excellent example pressed against Tony’s thigh, after all. [***SKIP***]

“Do-- I mean, is that a thing you’ve done?” Bucky wondered. “Do you enjoy it?”

“I haven’t, before, no,” Tony admitted. “Not with this body. It’s not something that humans have ever wanted from me. But I don’t know why I wouldn’t enjoy it. These bodies are made for such pleasures, hm?”

“Well, that’s the ideal,” Bucky said, hesitantly. His hand moved again, to the hip and leg that Tony had formed the evening before. “Does it feel-- do you even _feel_?” His hand stroked Tony’s leg, fingers wandered up his thigh, the heel of his hand smooth and soft over Tony’s ribs and belly.

“Of course I feel,” Tony said. “It’s actually very difficult to use a body if you can’t feel what it’s doing.” He caught that wandering hand and pulled it upward. Pressed his lips deliberately and delicately in the center of Bucky’s palm, breathing warm over the skin. He had not made love to a human before, but he’d witnessed what must be nearly every possible permutation of the act.

Bucky shivered, his eyes going wide and then dark as he stared at Tony as if Tony was something precious. Not for what Tony would give him, or the power behind owning a djinn, but as if Tony himself was as fragile as glass and as sweet as sugar. “This-- listen to me, Tony,” he said. “This is very important to me. I don’t… only if _you_ want it.”

“You haven’t commanded me,” Tony reiterated. “I’m operating entirely under my own will.” He cocked his head, considering Bucky’s half-wanting, half-worried expression. “If the thought worries you, you could simply remain silent.” He curved his mouth into a smirk, watching the spark of desire in Bucky’s eyes. “Let me take my pleasure of you.”

“Please do,” Bucky said, half serious, half joking. He raised up and pressed his mouth on Tony’s, lip soft and warm. He didn’t try to taste or force or explore, just molded his mouth with Tony’s, waiting.

He let himself feel the press of Bucky’s mouth against his, soft and warm, a little prickly just past the lips from stubble. Very nice, very enjoyable.

Tony flicked out his tongue, brushing Bucky’s lower lip, tasting Bucky’s skin. Bucky’s lips parted on a soft gasp and Tony pressed the advantage, testing the slide of their mouths together, the taste of the underside of Bucky’s lip, the sharp scrape of teeth.

Bucky’s hand came up, slid along the side of Tony’s jaw, until he was cradling Tony’s face in one hand, thumb rubbing over Tony’s cheek. His mouth moved, slow and eager, as if testing the shape of Tony’s lips. His tongue slid inside Tony’s mouth, tasting, and then he pulled back, a little wrinkle in the middle of his eyebrows. “You taste… like starlight,” Bucky said, wondering, voice shaking with awe.

“Do I?” Tony was pleased, and not a little awed, himself, at Bucky’s reverence. “Do you like it?” He kissed Bucky again without waiting for an answer, letting his hand roam idly over the plane of Bucky’s side and chest and stomach, learning each dip and swell, the way the skin twitched when it was tickled, and shivered where it was particularly sensitive.

“Very much,” Bucky said, and he kissed Tony again, as if to demonstrate, his kiss a little more fierce, almost frantic, as if he was being granted one, singular privilege. His tongue slid under Tony’s lip, flickered into his mouth, and then they were breathing together. Tony never actually needed to breathe, but it was suddenly as if he couldn’t get enough, and he was panting into Bucky’s mouth.

When Tony pulled away, his body was reacting of its own accord, it seemed, rocking into the warm solidness of Bucky’s, seeking to drive that pleasurable ache higher. Tony rested his forehead against Bucky’s and breathed in Bucky’s air, dizzy with desire. “I like that,” he said. “Kissing. I like it a lot.”

“Good,” Bucky said, and he nuzzled at Tony’s throat, mouth busy there as well, licking over the spots where blood would flow, Tony realized. “Like everything about you. God, you taste good.” Bucky slid downward, tasting, kissing, nuzzling at Tony’s skin. He licked a flat line over Tony’s nipple -- a tiny, useless piece of skin, Tony had often thought. Especially on a human male, nipples had seemed pointless.

Right up until Bucky blew cool air over the heated, wet skin.

“Oh!” Tony arched into it wanting more, wanting Bucky’s mouth again, wanting... something. “Oh, that’s... that’s what that’s for.”

Bucky made a rumbling sound, like a satisfied cat, and did it again. His teeth scraped over the tender bump, and then he flicked it with his tongue. “You like that--” He sounded almost smug. Pleased that he was pleasing Tony.

“Oh, yes,” and even if Tony didn’t need to breathe, it came out somewhat breathless. “Can I-- Do you like it?” He sought Bucky’s chest with his fingers, feeling for Bucky’s nipple, curious.

“I do--” Bucky inhaled, held it, his back all but arching into the touch. “You-- you can… harder than that, it’s okay.”

“Harder,” Tony repeated, and squeezed, carefully, watching the way Bucky’s eyelids fluttered, the way his mouth fell open when Tony rolled his nipple, tugged lightly. “Like that? Harder?”

“Yeah, that’s… that’s good,” Bucky groaned. His hips rolled against Tony’s thigh, rubbing himself against the skin there. The sweatpants were decidedly tenting out. “Quick learner--” 

Bucky stroked his hand over Tony’s chest, down, and-- “This is okay?” His fingers stopped just at the edge of the silken trousers that Tony had conjured to wear. 

“Yes,” Tony said, and banished his clothes. He’d only summoned them for the sake of Bucky’s modesty, and it seemed they were beyond that, now. “Please, touch me all you like.”

“Oh, I like,” Bucky said, and he traced one finger down, then from the crown of Tony’s cock to the base, just one single, feather light stroke. “I don’t know why I was thinkin’ it’d look different.”

Tony shivered, _shuddered_ at that light touch. “Do I want to know what you thought it would look like?” he wondered, and grinned. “Made of smoke and fire, maybe? That would be uncomfortable for you, to say the least.”

Bucky laughed, lowering his chin a little, then-- “I don’t know. Just different.” And then it didn’t matter, because he was _licking_ at it. Heat and wet and light pressure, tingling at Tony’s nerves, dancing across his skin like electricity.

“Oh, sweet gods,” Tony gasped. The action itself wasn’t a surprise, he’d seen it hundreds, thousands, maybe _millions_ of times, but he hadn’t realized it felt like _this_. His fingers buried themselves in Bucky’s hair, curling and uncurling, scratching lightly across Bucky’s scalp.

Bucky hummed with interest, and Tony’s whole cock was engulfed in that warm, wet slide. Bucky’s hands went around Tony’s hips, encouraging him to arch into it, to push into that heat, and Bucky would draw back, before going back down. “I could do this--” Bucky said, between strokes, “all day.”

Tony made a sound perilously close to a whine. “I don’t think I could,” he admitted. “It’s so... so _much_.”

“It’s good,” Bucky told him. “An’ holdin’ on can be the worst-- coming’s like relief from the most unimaginable torment. But the longer you wait, oh, the better it gets.” 

He ducked back down, taking Tony down to the root, tongue wiggling against Tony’s overstimulated skin, each lick bringing him closer to some unimaginable goal.

“Oh,” Tony gasped, and then he _did_ whine, and didn’t even care. His entire world had narrowed down to his groin, that heated pressure and wet slide. He felt like something was building under his skin, pushing at him, making him swell like a balloon, and surely, any moment, the pressure would exceed his tolerance, but it just _kept building_. “Bucky, Bucky, please,” he begged, utterly uncertain what he was begging _for_.

Bucky chuckled around his mouthful, and that was _wicked_. Then he pulled off, lashing his tongue over the head one last time. “Look at you, beautiful thing,” Bucky said. “Don’t suppose you could conjure up a bottle of lube? I ain’t got any on hand.”

“I mean, I _could_ ,” Tony said, half-dizzy as he stared at Bucky. “But why? I could just skip the middle step and--” He waved a hand in what was meant to be illustrative.

Bucky spluttered, and then blinked and-- “Well, there’s a _damn good_ use of magic. Yeah, do that, and I’ll get you where you want to be, love. So, so lovely.”

That was just enough of a command to boost Tony’s magic a bit. He tightened his hold on his body and _shifted_ things, just a bit, added some slick, and... yes, that was good. It even _felt_ better, a heated tingling that mingled with the ache in his balls and the sizzle of pleasure in his cock.

Bucky smirked, reached between Tony’s legs. “Let me check that out there,” he said, rubbing his finger over the furled opening. “Oh, you are wet, that’s… that’s just _naughty_.” He kept playing down there, caressing and rubbing, fingertip sliding in to tug at the rim.

Tony’s hips bucked, trying to pull Bucky farther in, needing more than that teasing touch. “Bucky,” he panted, “please, I need...”

“Me, too,” Bucky said. He cradled himself between Tony’s thighs, rolling him flat on his back. “Bend your knees a little, yeah? Just-- right there.” He reached down, lined them up. “Tell me if it hurts, I don’t never wanna hurt you.” He kissed Tony as he pressed himself in-- breaching the opening to Tony’s immortal flesh.

Tony almost laughed at the idea of Bucky hurting him -- he never had to feel pain unless his master commanded it of him -- but the sensation of Bucky sliding into him knocked all the words and laughter right out of his chest, leaving him gasping for breath. “Oh gods, Bucky, it’s so _good_.” His arms curled around Bucky’s back and shoulders, fingers clinging tight, trying to pull Bucky even closer, deeper.

“I’ve got you,” Bucky told him. “Shhh, there you go, nice an’ easy, I’m gonna take care of you, promise.” He kissed Tony, slow and slick, as he moved in him, working them together. One hand slipped between them and he was cupping Tony’s cock, stroking it in time with his thrusts.

“Oh, oh, oh--” Tony felt jittery, urgent and restless, like something was fighting to climb out of his skin. He rolled his hips up and wrapped his legs around Bucky’s hips, holding them close together, holding Bucky inside him, pressing against his inner walls like it was the only thing that was keeping him from floating away, from being consumed like flashpaper.

The weight of Bucky inside him, the lightning-shock pleasure of each stroke on his cock, the sweet words Bucky whispered between kisses, the soft tickle of Bucky’s breath spilling down his neck. It was more than Tony had ever felt before, at once, more than he’d ever thought one body _could_ feel. It was sublime and it was profane, an incomplete perfection that pushed his breath out in juddering, incoherent sobs until finally that crackle of pure pleasure crested, rushing through Tony’s limbs like a tsunami of fire.

Bucky was swearing, softly, reverently, as he pushed into Tony’s body, again, and then-- “Oh, Christ--” He shivered, body going stiff, eyes rolling back. He threw his head back, cords on his neck standing out, skin suddenly flush with sweat, crying out. “Tony, Tony!”

He collapsed onto Tony, slick with sweat, shivering with heat. They lay that way for a long moment, too drained to move. Too moved to speak.

After a time, Tony reminded himself that the body was only a tool for the use of an inexhaustible being of magic, and managed to lift one hand enough to pet clumsily at Bucky’s hair. “No wonder humans are so obsessed with sex.”

“We’ve got a few things goin’ for us, I guess,” Bucky said. “Am I too heavy, I’ll get off.”

Tony laughed. “I can literally move mountains. I think I can support you for a little longer.” His arms curled around Bucky’s back, clinging. _Don’t go_. It was too sweet, just to be together, like this, an intimacy of skin and shared pleasure.

“You don’t gotta do any of that,” Bucky said, tucking his nose against Tony’s throat. “Jus’ be you. That’s all I could ever-- that’s what I love.”

Love. Was that what this was? Tony didn’t know. He only knew that he wanted Bucky to stay close and protected and sweet and kind and beautiful. “You’ve got me,” he promised. “I’m all yours.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's a wrap on this story!
> 
> And this, unfortunately, is going to be the last of the regular Sunday updates for... an indefinite amount of time. Tuesday's post will wrap up _Comtéhawk_ , Thursday I'll post a Sandbridge short story that we wrote a few months back and then sort of forgot about, and... then I've run out of fics that tisfan and I finished before her stroke, and I expect it will be a matter of months, at minimum, before she's able to write again, even slowly.
> 
> I will, of course, continue to sporadically post my solo writings as they're ready, but I'm going to miss these regular postings. We've gotten to know any number of our regular readers through comments, and I want you to know that every single comment and kudo has made us smile, since we started posting _Winter is Coming_ back in November of 2016. Four years (and a couple of months) of regular posts, three times a week -- it's quite the accomplishment, and we're both extremely glad to have had you all with us for even part of that journey.
> 
> I am both hopeful and confident that tisfan will continue to recover and get stronger, and that she will, eventually, be ready to write again. If you're as hopeful for that moment as I am, be sure you're subscribed to both of us, and feel free to drop me a line on tumblr (27dragons) or discord (27dragons#2243) any time.

**Author's Note:**

> This story was co-written by 27dragons and tisfan. It is complete and one chapter will be posted every Sunday until it is done.
> 
> Unfortunately, tisfan suffered a major medical misadventure in late September and, as of this posting, is in a long-term physical therapy facility and unable to read or type (and therefore is unable to log in and accept co-authorship). She _is_ expected to return eventually, but so far the doctors aren't able to estimate a time frame for that. Anyone who would like to leave a note for tisfan can add it to the bottom of [this document](https://docs.google.com/document/d/1EdkWsokcaUSnQ7i9proJiuzR30L-WVHgGx4pwKj6GH0/edit?usp=sharing) \- new messages are periodically pulled and given to Mr. Tisfan to read to her (and the whole thing is being saved for her when she's able to get back online again).


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